Neverwinter Forest wash me clean off the land

for @Solharr; other tags for reference.

Thus far, the forest had proved safe enough. A few of the wolves he'd met had made him wary or frustrated, and he was still suffering misgivings about the purported holiness of the trees — but those were features, not flaws. Features he did not enjoy... but still not inherently incompatible with his continued existence here.

Regardless of his feelings, he still worked hard. He spent most of his time stalking the borderlands, or else poking his nose into the caches to be sure the pack was kept fed. He hunted often, both to keep himself and Seastorm fed and to provide for the pack. When he wanted to take down bigger prey, his preferred hunting partner was @Rokkur.

Today, like most days, the bounty hunter was feeling restless. There was little in the way of excitement in the packlands, and annoying Seastorm could only take up so much of his time. Not because it ceased to entertain him, but because he could forever sense her patience wearing thin. He left her to her destructive devices and set off intending to do another patrol. Perhaps he'd run into something else that would snarl at him — something he could sink his teeth into without regrets.

Before that, however, he came across the scent of the hárkonungr. He changed directions to seek the man without much thought, giving a low bark to alert the man to his presence as he drew nearer.

solhárr appeared through the undergrowth like a shadow, his broad frame moving with purpose yet marked by a calm composure. the low bark guided him to catamaran, and his ears swiveled toward the bounty hunter as he approached. his gaze was steady, a flicker of curiosity and intent shining through the morning's cool light.

catamaran, he greeted, his voice a deep rumble, laced with familiarity. he did not waste time on pleasantries, not with what lingered at the forefront of his mind. how is seastorm? i’ve not seen her at the borders.

his brow quirked slightly, though his expression remained neutral, save for the faintest edge of concern behind his words. the hárkonungr, ever observant, noted the restlessness in catamaran's stance but didn’t address it yet, his focus instead on the young girl under his care. she has been adjusting?

the question lingered like the cool mist that hung in the forest air. solhárr was not one to pry unnecessarily, but it was clear he sought to understand more—of both the girl and the man standing before him. their scents entangled— something was amiss.

The bounty hunter echoed a greeting, more sound than word. He was pleased enough to see Solharr looking well, but his ears swiveled uncertainly as Seastorm was brought up. Was she expected to be out on patrols so soon?

"She is still healing," he said cautiously, a slight furrow in his brows. "But she does guard the borders nearest to where we sleep with ferocity."

He wondered if Callyope had yet been to see the girl. Surely if she had, she would have reported the state of her to her husband? He hoped it would be soon; he was beginning to worry, and if Callyope had more to offer her, he believed she must need it.

"It frustrates her to be so immobile," he went on, his tone still bland. "She takes it out on me."

As evidenced by the scabbing wounds that littered his face in varying stages of healing.

solhárr hummed lowly, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, as if weighing the bounty hunter’s words carefully. his eyes remained steady on catamaran, though a faint flicker of curiosity betrayed his otherwise stoic demeanor. by chewing on our trees? he mused, a hint of dry humor creeping into his voice. i suppose that means she’ll recover well enough, if her spirit’s still intact.

he let his gaze sweep over catamaran now, noting the fresh marks and the subtle way his stance bore the weight of someone who was no stranger to struggle. you’ve the build of a warrior, he remarked evenly, tilting his head slightly. strong, capable.

a pause lingered in the air, the weight of a challenge forming between them. if you’re up for it, i’d like to test that strength. see what you’re made of. there was no malice in his tone—only the calm assertion of a hárkonungr seeking to measure the potential of those under his watch.

he didn’t press further, instead letting the words hang, offering catamaran the chance to accept or decline. the trees around them seemed to lean closer, as if the forest itself awaited his reply

A flicker of emotion crossed the bounty hunter's features. Mainly because he'd thought of Luhtar, and the flick of the other man's tail against his shoulder, and the scent of his saliva on the girl's pelt. He wanted to wrinkle his lips, though — easily! — the more discomfiting part of the situation was the strength of his reaction rather than anything to do with Luhtar in particular.

Catamaran had not often disliked other wolves. It was not a comfortable feeling.

Solharr's attention turned from Seastorm to him, and that was not particularly comfortable, either. The bounty hunter bore it without demure, answering these superlatives with a swivel of his ear. He supposed that it must be the truth. He was a warrior, was strong and capable. Why should his build not reflect that? Still, it put him in the mind of the gladiator-like tournaments he had be roped into in his youth.

But, having now spent a little time around the man, Catamaran felt relatively sure that wasn't what he was proposing.

"A spar?" he clarified, already stretching in preparation.

Sólhárr nodded once, a firm motion that conveyed his approval. a spar, he affirmed, though his tone suggested more than just a test of skill. his gaze remained steady on catamaran, as if searching for something deeper beneath the bounty hunter’s composed exterior.

this may be a good role for you to fill, he continued, his voice thoughtful but measured. warrior. protector. forneskja is always in need of those who can defend its borders and its wolves. his words carried the weight of his position, but there was no force behind them—only an offering, a suggestion laced with expectation.

show me your strength, he added, stepping back to allow catamaran the space to ready himself. the hárkonungr's posture shifted subtly, muscles coiled in readiness, his golden eyes glinting with the challenge he extended. let’s see what you can do.

down for dice rolls. the way i do them is roll a 1d20 for attack. whatever number it is, you let me know in your ooc comment. then i roll for defense and if i roll higher, than solharr can block. let me know if that works! vice versa trading off attacks and defenses.

Rolled an 18

The bounty hunter appeared only contemplative when it was revealed there was more to the roll he was expected to fulfill. He finished stretching without pause, releasing the last of the tension from his body. I do my best, he thought to say, but somehow, did not feel it would be a welcome sentiment. It sounded as though Solharr thought there was still more he ought to earn.

Catamaran did not believe himself capable of disabusing him of the notion. So he did what he was asked, and he showed him his strength.

It was a slow start. At first, the bounty hunter only casually circled the other man, his tail swaying idly at his hocks. When he argued and when he threatened and when he warned others off, he tended to posture and vocalize like any other wolf. But when he fought, he appeared almost unassuming, deferential as he looked for his opening.

A playful feint. A cheeky snip-snap aimed at the other man's hocks. Catamaran made as if to dart away only to shift, suddenly, into overbearing aggression. Still, his voice was quiet — a grunt of effort as he slammed into the other man and the hiss of his breath as he made a grab for the meat of the other man's shoulder.

His jaws ached with the effort it took to pull his punches. Instinct pushed him to deal devastating blows, but this must necessarily be a wrestling match more than a true battle. The marks they put in each others flesh should not hinder them beyond today.

d: 8, attack hits! a: 12

sólhárr’s eyes narrowed as catamaran's first strike landed, the force of it rattling his bones. the bounty hunter was quick, calculating, and sólhárr grunted with the impact, a flicker of amusement mingling with the pain. a worthy opponent indeed.

his movements slowed only briefly, recovering as he circled, each step deliberate. his tail remained high, a banner of confidence and authority, though there was no mistaking the respect he held for his challenger.

without a word, the harkonungr lunged. his muscles coiled like a drawn bow, and with calculated precision, he aimed low, a sweeping motion toward catamaran’s legs. it was not a reckless attack but one designed to test the bounty hunter's footing and adaptability.

the outcome of the move remained uncertain, the forest quiet save for the steady rhythm of their breaths and the scuffle of paws against earth. in this contest of strength and strategy, neither wolf could afford to falter.

16 - miss; attack: 1 T_T

If only pantherblood game him the cat's claws, too. Alas, the drawback of percussive force was that it placed him near enough to Solharr for an easy and devastating return.

Solharr was quick. As quick as Catamaran had been, he thought. But it was still difficult for a beast so large not to broadcast his intent. If he'd not had momentum on his side, he might still have been knocked over. As it was, the bounty hunter sprang up in a sideways little hop, dodging the brunt of the impact.

In retaliation, he made a hasty snap for Solharr's scruff, hoping he could grab it as he landed and haul the man off balance. It was a near thing, though; the bounty hunter cursed already, a huff of good humor passing his lips.

d:12, attack misses; a: 13

sólhárr's attack sailed past, his momentum carrying him just off the mark. he grimaced, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, though it did little to deter him. catamaran’s retaliation was swift, jaws snapping dangerously close to his scruff. a lesser wolf might have been caught, but sólhárr twisted sharply, his muscles coiling with practiced grace as he sidestepped the strike.

he wasted no time. the momentary opening left by catamaran's missed grab was all he needed to launch his next move. with a powerful leap, sólhárr thrust forward, aiming to collide against the bounty hunter’s abdomen with his shoulder. it was a calculated maneuver, meant to shake the breath from catamaran's lungs and test his endurance.

the impact was uncertain—sólhárr’s eyes narrowed, gauging the outcome even as he prepared for whatever counter might come next. the dance of strength and strategy continued, neither wolf yet conceding ground.

8 - hit; attack 5

He saw the attack coming, but it was too late to dodge. He could try, but it would put him off kilter, and he did not want to lose his footing. He braced himself instead, forced to take the blow like a man. It did indeed knock all the air from his lungs and shove him almost to the floor. He bowed under the weight to keep his paws beneath him, and from this somewhat solid stance, tried to take one of Solharr's forelegs in his jaws.

Gently.

But, not so gently as he handled Seastorm.

d: 4, attack hits; a:19

sólhárr felt the collision hit its mark, catamaran’s weight barreling into him and knocking him off balance. his paws scrabbled briefly against the earth, a grunt escaping him as he managed to keep from completely toppling over. the bounty hunter's jaws grazed his foreleg, a move measured in restraint but still carrying intent.

quickly regaining his footing, sólhárr retaliated with a flicker of a grin—creative, unorthodox. he dropped his weight low to the ground, feigning submission for only a heartbeat before he twisted sharply, aiming to use his shoulder to hook against catamaran’s front legs and disrupt his stance.

at the same time, he reached with his muzzle, not to bite but to push against the side of the bounty hunter's neck, enough force to unsteady but not harm. it was a calculated move, blending power with a playful nod to their spar's purpose.

5 - hit; Attack: 17

It was strange, having to be so careful. It occurred to the bounty hunter only now that he'd not had such a friendly spar since Coachwhip had gone his own way. He wondered, idly, where his brother might be now — but it was not the time for such thoughts.

He was shoved with a pointy muzzle. Playfully, he knew, but it made his heart pound all the same. His jaws ached to tear and rend, to end the fight before he was truly harmed. He licked excess saliva from his jaws and tried to tune back in to the levity of the moment. Accordingly, he added a tiny bounce to his step as he twisted, rearing back —

and attempted to grab Solharr in a bear-hug, bearing down to try and take them both to the forest floor.

d: 8 hit ; a:5

sólhárr felt the shift in weight and the clever pull of catamaran’s move. the bounty hunter’s bear-hug was effective, and the hárkonungr grunted as his balance faltered, his frame tipping toward the forest floor. they tumbled together in a flurry of fur and earth, the force of the spar landing them in a heap of tangled limbs.

the brief sting of the fall was nothing compared to the flare of determination in his chest. with a sharp inhale, sólhárr steadied himself, his muscles coiling with precision as he sought an opening. catamaran's grip was strong, but it was not unbreakable. twisting slightly beneath him, sólhárr used the leverage of his hind legs to push upward, creating just enough space to angle his shoulder forward.

without hesitation, he lunged for catamaran’s exposed side, aiming to pin the other male with a calculated thrust. his jaws sought purchase—not to harm, but to assert dominance in this friendly challenge. whether or not the move would land, sólhárr could feel the pulse of camaraderie in the spar, a test of skill rather than one of malice. his amber eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as he pushed himself to match the bounty hunter's prowess.

6! Phew! (miss); Attack: 10

They landed with a thud! that rattled them both and grappled for a moment on the ground. With all his senses heightened and tension running high, he found his next breath escaping in a breathless laugh. Not that he found anything funny, exactly, but the thrill of danger that rushed through him needed some kind of outlet.

The hárkonungr was quick on the uptake — there was no denying that.

His forepaws stretched out, bent at the elbow to brace for impact. When Solharr's weight landed on him, he gave a mighty shove. The force of it still pushed him back in the dirt, grinding dust and leaf litter into his pelt — but at least he wasn't pinned. Grizzling loudly, he made another grab for the hárkonungr 's leg while rabbit-kicking from the ground with his own. It would leave shallow scrapes and uncomfortable bruises if he caught the other man with the attack, but Catamaran assumed this was an acceptable level of damage for such a game.

d:1 LMAO. i'll count that as a crit hit, catamaran bests him!

sólhárr’s breath came heavy as catamaran's attack landed, sending him tumbling with a force that left his ribs aching. the dirt beneath him felt cool against his warmed skin as he sprawled on his side, chest rising and falling with each labored inhale. his lips curled briefly in a flash of teeth—both frustration and admiration mingling within the action.

then, with a shake of his head and a grunt, the hárkonungr relented. enough, he rumbled, his voice low and rough, though the corners of his mouth threatened to lift into a grudging smile. pushing himself to his paws, sólhárr gave his opponent a steady look, respect gleaming faintly in his sharp gaze.

you’ve earned it, he admitted, the words dragging like stone but ringing with truth. victory is yours. the statement carried weight, and his tone was not unkind, though there was a flicker of challenge still in his eyes—an unspoken promise that this was not the last time they would meet like this.

he stepped back, steadying himself, before nodding toward catamaran. you fight well. strong. better than most. the pack will gain much from you. the praise, though brief, was genuine—a rare thing from sólhárr, reserved only for those he deemed worthy.

you've earned your place, húskarlar, or would you rather be called to arms?

The bounty hunter rolled to get his paws back underneath him, but for the moment, did not rise from the ground. He laid a few feet away, tongue lolling as he captured his breath. Coral eyes tracked Solharr's every moment, wary despite the relaxed position he held.

He was pleased to have been named victor, though he did not have much in the way of masculine pride. He was pleased, too, that the game had been called by Solharr; Catamaran had never been sure how to end these things, and the longer it went on, the more likely someone was to be truly hurt. But they had both come out of it no worse for wear, and Catamaran did not dread the idea of having to prove himself again.

"I'm here to be wielded," he replied, not unkindly. "Call me what you like."

He lifted himself from the ground, then, and gave his hide a perfunctory shake. His coral gaze lifted to Solharr's face once more, patiently awaiting any marching orders.

sólhárr watched the bounty hunter rise, his steady gaze assessing catamaran’s composure. the man was sturdy, determined—a good match for the forest's demands. his victory in the spar had been well-earned, and sólhárr nodded, a rare flicker of approval crossing his rugged features.

you'll be a guard, sólhárr said simply, his voice firm. watch the borders. protect the forest. and her, he added with a slight emphasis, his meaning clear. seastorm’s wellbeing was as much a priority as the pack's safety.

the hárkonungr’s golden eyes lingered on catamaran for a beat longer, his expression thoughtful. it suits him well.

a faint smirk ghosted across his muzzle. don’t let her chew through too many trees, eh?

he gave a short, approving nod before stepping back, ready to leave the bounty hunter to settle into his new role. you’ll do well, catamaran. the forest will come to know you as its shield.

exit sólhárr

A guard, then. Catamaran was resigned to the title, though inwardly, he felt himself a far better killer than a protector. A far better killer than a wrestler, too, but how was he meant to show that? He took in Solharr's command with a tuck of his chin and a quiet, "Of course."

He did not say that his deal with Seastorm had been made separately than his deal with Solharr.

He did not agree to keep her from chewing on trees, either; only offered a small curve of his lips in response to Solharr's smile.

They departed from one another. Catamaran turned and went back the way he'd come, resuming the patrol he'd hardly started before the spar.