Just as suddenly as the snap of a twig, everything changed. Bruno claimed victory, his deadly stare directed at Luther sharp enough to pin him there to the spot all on its own. Emory felt his stomach drop and tighten sickly all at once. He’d lost. His father, the once-heir, the unjustly ousted member of the Starke-Rike family, had been brought low a second time. It wasn’t fair.

But there was no time to consider fairness, not when the defending leader of the Mire began calling out orders, orders that directly affected him and his sisters. Emory’s ears flattened with defense, worry, as he shot a look at Eris beside him. Runa was beyond his help, wrapped up in another fight she had instigated all on her own, but Eris…he couldn’t see her—delicate, diplomatic thing that she was—enduring the same violent punishment without undue harm.

He looked up, seeking his father where he last saw him standing before his uncle, but he was not there. Panic wracked his mind, worried that his father had already been dragged away, but another frantic search later spotted the pale ghost standing apart, quietly, directed as if he intended to leave. Emory caught and held his eye for the brief moment he had it, disbelief clouding his pallid features. Was he…running? Was he leaving them to this mess?

Run. It wasn’t Eris, or even his own thought, but the whispered voice of their “protector,” just before she too made to leave the fight in the chaos before she could be targeted. On some instinctive level, Emory understood; all bets were off now that the party they had thrown their lot in with had lost. But it still burned him to watch her flee, to abandon his sister, to know his father had done only the same to them all.

Gritting his teeth with a low growl, Em turned to spy Runa again, still in the midst of her second battle, and he rumbled out a soft, grating curse before turning back to Eris.

“Go,” he urged her, not bothering to mask the word behind their shared language; anyone with a brain could guess what their best course of action for survival would be. “Not with her,” he spat, referencing her flighty friend with a grimace, “but just…get out of here. Please.” He couldn’t interfere with Runa’s fight to offer her an escape, but nor could he leave without her. Emory had made a promise…and he might be the only one of his family who could keep their word.

@Eris

it's absolute madness.

she lingers near the only lion she knows here and he is preening with two larger, prettier women hanging on either side. @Halimede is kind enough to offer a smile and a nod and haven tentatively offers her own. she's muttering quickly, however, about how she wants a- a rainbow? the medic's brows tighten over her pale eyes and her ears swivel back to her skull. though the battle for the crown is wickedly vicious, there are smaller fights breaking out all around them. and it seems like her own pride is chomping at the proverbial bit for their own.

her eyes are critically assessing the wounds already opening on either side of the battle for crown, lips turning down at the edges and a wince remaining frozen on her expression. the two - brothers, apparently, from what she's gathering - are out for more than blood, for leadership. there's a personal vendetta in every strike they make against one another and she finds her skin crawling with the vitriol dripping from every bite and claw, from every word that is roared from their lips. this is- haven finally starts, voice soft; she might as well be speaking to herself, for all the attention she imagines her cracking words will draw. this is barbaric. and it's awe and horror and painful memories hanging on every word that leaves her mouth. even the children are involved, tearing into one another with more anger than she'd imagine.

somehow - somehow this is worse than where she came from.
and her leader ( leaders ) seem perfectly at ease.
her pridemate seems unfazed; amused even.

she'd thought violarum promised a friendly, easy pride - but perhaps, among the maniacs in amaryliis, this was considered friendly.

she finds her feet, feeling ill, and swallows tightly against the knot in her throat.

her paws move of their own accord, shoving her forward as she crow-hops towards a gaggle of cubs tearing one another apart -

only to be jerked to a halt as @Anniston arrives with another in two. the medic's eyes snap back to the woman who smells deeply of the plains, who looks enough like her father that she quickly puts two-and-two together, and frowns. she doesn't seem any more inclined to step in than the rest of them. her frown deepens and she chews on the edge of her lip, wondering how long she can stand and... and watch this without saying anything. without stepping in. without running away.

while her head swims with indecision, the victor stands amongst the crowd. smaller than his brother, but victorious none-the-less. he staggers, snaps orders, and dives into the fray once more.

and @Violarum, swiftly, stands with a quiet order of his own.

something like dawning horror twists in her gut. that was... "us" he says and haven's brows tighten further over her gaze. she's a medic - and haven intends to hide behind that, intends to play stupid if pressed.

she swallows again, schooling her face into a professional sort of examination of those around her. her legs propel her forward, dodging around fights and away from the tumbling lions if she can, to find the edges of the large gathering - where she can breathe.

where she can be seen and play the game; can survive in the only way she knows how.

ooc. open to whatever, go for it lads

Violarum isn't entirely aware of @Kian, at least not until his familiar voice rolls with unfamiliar threat - and as the King's head turned so casually to rest upon his bronze son, his guard unable to lift in the wake of his well-loved offspring, he is struck across his right cheek with exposed claws.

The talons rip unsuspectingly through the gold of his cheek, rippling easily through hair and leather leaving strings of red in their wake. Though instinct triggered a pained snarl and so momentarily the ferocity of his crimson gaze met his son's, it fizzled so quickly into shock. Violarum attempted to step back, a paw raised to touch the wound, wanting to confirm it had really happened.

What?

Though Vio's soul might have crumpled with confusion, Anni soon swoops in to address her brothers inexplainable target, and Violarum is forced back to all fours as he becomes aware of Aeistrios. Oh. Alaric had taken his eye. Rough. Deserved. Kind of expected.

The shove holds enough malice to rock his weight, forcing his opposite forepaw through the mud to balance it back out, and his tawny ears pin into dark mane as his lips pulled up into a threatening snarl. "Go home before somebody takes your other eye," it was a valid concern, and his left forelimb would seek to lift, attempting to smack his exposed claws into the male's dark chest, trying to shove him back away. "You have no friends here," last warning.

@Violarum & @Anniston vs. @Kian & @Aeistrios
Round 1 of 3
for Bordeaux
Hits:

Rolling 9d20: 8 + 19 + 6 + 12 + 1 + 5 + 2 + 16 + 14

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 18 + 11 + 14 + 12

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 16 + 17 + 6 + 3 + 18

_{art by kairi —}

@Vesemir joined them seeming to torment their brother and Banazir gave him a big smile and soft chuff. Almost as if he was trying to encourage his brothers to tussle. It was fun after all, tussling.

Banazir's ears fell back eyes widening at the commanding call from their older brother. Was he angry? Why? There were other lions here, both big and small so why was he mad? @Hekate's words didn't help to explain as Ban's eyes fell on the fighting cubs. Why was it bad? Then again their tussleing didn't look all that fun to him. @Pompeii spoke of mother fighting and the blue boy's gaze fell back to the battle filled with a mix of emotions on his face. Mom was gonna do that? It kinda looked like all the lions were tussling and yet not. Banazir could see red seep from some of them... Blood. It didn't look like a tussle, it kinda looked worse. The girl left them heading off after having given them a shove to move. Ban did take a few steps forward before stopping and looking up at their older brother again.

He wanted to ask more questions, ask why he was mad but he didn't get that far as the angry voice of their mother reached his ears. Banazir felt small at @Narsil's hissing voice. His ears were flat against his skull and his eyes dropped to his paws, tail flicking at his ankles. Mother was angry at him, angry he was here. Ban didn't understand but knew he'd done something bad. A feeling made even worse as mother told them she had gifts, gifts she might take away. "No" he cried out, or rather whispered with a wide-eyed expression. He wanted gifts! He was gonna be a godboy and go back, then he'd still get a gift right? Pompeii huffed at him and Banazir looked up at his older brother with an almost pleading look to his gaze. "Go back, back now" he told their older brother before looking to his brothers @Nkosi and Vesemir. "Go back, get gifts," he told them his little tail raising and flicking in excitement. Gifts were better than getting in trouble with Mom, so they'd follow Big Brother back to the den... right?

code by corvus, art by wolfsi

the brutality of war is on full display, the dark man's eyeball suddenly torn from his skull and crushed underfoot. next to them, the pride challenge that karsa had especially come to observe also ends in a victory for the current monarch. for a moment he practices the new move he had learned, the way his weight would need to shift to bring his paw up. how his limb would need to twist to reach under someone like that, towards their belly. claws sink into air, but maybe some day it would be real flesh. he practices one more time, reaching and reaching to do as much damage to his imaginary opponent as possible, weight distributed over the other limbs for stability. however, his very distinct landmark is small and not exactly conducive to learning a new fight move.

blue eyes sweep over the scene, painted in equal strokes of blood and frenzy and loyalty. they catch on a gaggle of children that are far too young to be playing in the middle of a warzone. there are others nearby, presumably of their own pride and just as one of the girls launches into battle, a woman slips onto the scene and blocks the babies from view - a woman who he assumes is their mother. karsa moves from his hiding place, his huge upturned tree, and into the undergrowth. the thick cloak of mud and dirt that the yearling wears keeps him hidden as he prowls the perimeter, pushing out of the thick leaves to stop a few feet from @Narsil. "do you need help? i can help carry one of them, i'm on my way out." he cannot help the more fight - the hollows are not officially their ally and karsa will not be the reason they are dragged into such a conflict - but he can help in this, in evacuating the children.

karsa throws a quick glance over the woman's body, to see his friend violarum is now engaged in battle with the dark man too, for a woman of the oasis. with all that the man had taught him, how strong karsa knew him to be, there is no doubt in his mind that the lorien king would be victorious. however, with having observed the main fight and some of the other ongoing fights to conclusion, karsa is eager to return home and fill his father in so his expectant gaze turns to narsil. if he was rejected, he would be making quick work of turning tail and getting out of there.

secondarily, he blinks, wondering if his father knows of the plains pride - if they are allies? if they are, the knowledge had yet to trickle down to him, so perhaps the savante boy would work on getting such a bond into motion. after all, he had no reason not to trust his friend. violarum had been a pivotal part in karsa's training and had shown him kindness and encouragement during both of their meetings so far. it certainly couldn't hurt to ask alexander about it and get his father's input.

karsa is attempting to help via evacuating the children

coding by daanyen | art by rabbit

All of her girlish amusement melts away in the wake of @Amara’s words. She fights the urge to curl into Xavier’s side - to recoil from the truth, from the war unfurling around them. Embarrasment prickles the back of her throat and threatens to sting her eyes. The thought of being ripped away from @Xavier is unbearable, unfathomable. Lune cannot afford to slip under the heavy warmth of her emotions. She need to be alert as the world descends into hell around her. Instead, she nods her head and turns her gaze back to the main fight, holding her tongue this time.

There is something majestic about the crash of bodies, the drawing of blood and the roars of pain. It’s almost like a macabre opera - a perfect symphony of well- and mis-placed blows. A dance between two foes, each one fighting for their own proverbial slice of cake. Lune didn’t have a physical stake in the outcome, despite the looming threat of being captured and held against her will, so she tilted her head forward in reverent interest. The threat was real but to seemed like such a far away possibility in the heat of the fight and Lune didn’t want her fear to be visible to all who might glance her direction so she focused on the physicality of the battle.

The calls to war, the calls to fight echoed across the mire. A chill ran down Lune’s spine as Bruno arose as victor - demanding prisoners. Lune was. It raised to fight, her skills were rudimentary and her strikes unsure. The flaxen girl knew she could serve the pride much better by healing the wounded than joining them. Scanning the war field, Lune did not spot any other medics from the Bluffs. Was this her chance to prove herself? Or would her disinterest in fighting present as cowardice? Was it cowardice?

Lune’s eyes flickered back to Xavier as she tries to swallow the panic grasping at her throat. In her heart she knows that the magnetic man is more than capable of taking care of himself, slashing and crushing foes in all of his dark grace. Yet, she feels a trip in her heartbeat at the thought. But this is war. Lune knows she must put away childish things like emotions and pick up her armor. She must run into war but she is not ready. Are you ever ready? "I can tend to the wounded, drag them to safety if necessary. I can put my skills to use." I can be useful. Lune stated evenly, hoping to cover all traces of emotion in her voice as her eyes return to the various fights outbreaking. "I will also fight, where I’m needed." If I am needed. Lune sent a silent prayer up to the gods that they would not need to use her as a mortal instrument in this war. Not today. She needed time. Time to grow strong, time to learn.

Actions. Thoughts. "Speech."

code by flea, art by irish

@Rainer VS. @Fissure FOR Minor Maim
— RESULTS —

Rainer Hits: 4 + 2 + 2 + 3 + 5 luck = 16
Rainer Dodges: 3 + 4 + 2 + 2 = 11

Fissure Hits: 4 + 4 + 6 + 4 + 4 luck = 22
Fissure Dodges: 3 + 4 + 3 + 3 =13

Rainer Successful Hits: 3
Fissure Successful Hits: 11

FISSURE 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.

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!

---

WOUNDED ROLL

performed on discord by @Roamer ★

Rainer is automatically WOUNDED for losing!

Fissure Wounded Roll: 1

Fissure 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 11/05/2023, and are logged in the wounded log. Once healed, post in Trade & Dice Updates to have your dice returned to normal.

@Bhaskar VS. @Myra FOR WHAT
— RESULTS —

Bhaskar Hits: 3 + 6 + 3 + 3 +7 luck = 22
Bhaskar Dodges: 1 + 1 + 2 + 4 = 8

Myra Hits: 5 + 4 + 4 + 3 + 5 luck= 21
Myra Dodges: 2 + 3 + 2 + 3 = 10

Bhaskar Successful Hits: 12
Myra Successful Hits: 13

Myra 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.

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!

---

WOUNDED ROLL

performed on discord by @Roamer ★

Bhaskar is automatically WOUNDED for losing!

Myra Wounded Roll: 3

Myra 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 11/05/23, and are logged in the wounded log. Once healed, post in Trade & Dice Updates to have your dice returned to normal.

@Hekate & @Arsinoë & @Ianthe VS. @Reistrios @Iritrios @Aneistri FOR Theft of Leiah
— DEFAULT —

Due to @Ianthe failing to reply within the timers, they have defaulted from the fight. The other participants can continue, and it is now @Hekate 's turn.

He watches it happen outside of himself; his unsheated claws, driving into the other's face; leaving ugly marks in the flesh. His eyes stray to his opponent's at their own behest, and a visceral shock washes over him like a tide. He sees his father's face, reflecting a mirrored look of disbelief back at him. Blood is dribbling down the man's cheek, the sight gut-twistingly familiar. Had his face not been similarly wet with blood when he had lost the plains to that hulking, evil thing? As if on cue, a dark shadow falls over him. It's the plum-colored man, and before he allows his eyes to fully settle on him, he breaks his gaze away, as if the sight sears him. He doesn't want to see, not him, nor their similarities at that moment. Imploring eyes fixate upon his father instead. "Dad, I—" Blackout pain erupts in his left side, and before he's even aware it's happening, he finds himself toppling from the sheer force of the blow, rolling end over end across boggy soil before coming to a stop several feet away. Swaying, he picks up his head, and as he struggles to bring his double vision back into focus, his sister is already upon him, raking her claws across his exposed flank. "Ow. Goddammit!" A guttural hiss escapes him, snout bunching into sections as he flips himself onto his back, back legs reaching upwards and towards @Anniston, both in an attempt to shove her off to a distance and to stave off further attack. They hurt me, Kian! He knows what she's talking about, or so he thinks. After the taking of the plains, he had never quite found his feet again, either. "I get it, alright? I'm not with that asshole." It sounds unconvincing to his own ears. "But why her? Bordeaux's a medic. She's harmless." The plains never claimed anyone against their will. Not under his father's reign. Not that he could ever recall. When had everything changed? @Violarum & @Anniston vs. Kian & @Aeistrios For @Bordeaux Round 2 / 3 Hits: Rolling 3d20: 20 + 3 + 14 Dodges: Rolling 2d20: 11 + 17 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 4 + 11 + 19 + 18 + 13

code by shaz