![[Image: shybadge.png]](http://magatia.net/x/shybadge.png)
SKILL : WARLORD ( 1 / 5 )
Rolling 1d5: 4
True to its fearsome nature, Northfall had become less hospitable as the day progressed. The world's war drum bellowed with each gust of freezing, snow-bitten wind, joining the drunken crowd's merriment and call for blood from each round of combatants.
Shiloh could feel the day's efforts wear on him, numbed somewhat by a few mouthfuls of fermented fruit he'd partaken in between the last round and the newest one.
When he stepped foot into the ring, he almost lost his opponent's form in the blustering, whipping winds and the fog of disturbed snow. But he couldn't entirely ignore the piercing amethyst-toned eyes and...
What was that smell? It was akin to something rotten, fetid... and it hadn't been there before he'd been downwind from his spar partner. It was a novel technique to place one's enemies off-kilter, but he was more puzzled over what they... were.
They looked like they were meant to be canine, possibly even wolf, but they were so small. How had they gotten so far in the tournament for being so... miniature? It was odd, really - his combatants kept getting smaller with each rung in the ladder he ascended in this ill-fated tournament that was truly just a parade of various nightmares.
His muzzle scrunched against the offensive odor on the air, but he knew the longer he put off contact, the longer this fight would take, and he was eager to have it done with - even if the black wolf-thing looked like some of those evil spirits his mom sometimes talked about.
Without warning, Shiloh surged forward to try and grab the "fragrant" wolf anywhere he could grasp, his jaws arced wide.
Shiloh could feel the day's efforts wear on him, numbed somewhat by a few mouthfuls of fermented fruit he'd partaken in between the last round and the newest one.
When he stepped foot into the ring, he almost lost his opponent's form in the blustering, whipping winds and the fog of disturbed snow. But he couldn't entirely ignore the piercing amethyst-toned eyes and...
What was that smell? It was akin to something rotten, fetid... and it hadn't been there before he'd been downwind from his spar partner. It was a novel technique to place one's enemies off-kilter, but he was more puzzled over what they... were.
They looked like they were meant to be canine, possibly even wolf, but they were so small. How had they gotten so far in the tournament for being so... miniature? It was odd, really - his combatants kept getting smaller with each rung in the ladder he ascended in this ill-fated tournament that was truly just a parade of various nightmares.
His muzzle scrunched against the offensive odor on the air, but he knew the longer he put off contact, the longer this fight would take, and he was eager to have it done with - even if the black wolf-thing looked like some of those evil spirits his mom sometimes talked about.
Without warning, Shiloh surged forward to try and grab the "fragrant" wolf anywhere he could grasp, his jaws arced wide.
![[Image: Viv_ShilohFB.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_ShilohFB.gif)
