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It's okay. Just let us know when things change!
Crystal has no difficulty finding the large reptile. Vess looked over to her as he was moving the heavy barrels. She has muscle. "You! High-woman! Help move barrels." Gesturing at the trail leading to the edge of the chamber, he redoubled his efforts.
I motion to recast the roles lacking. If you are willing, of course.
Vess turned to Lance and those around him. "See! Blood there. Help me move barrels."
Trying his best to move the objects to get to the source of the mystery, Vess attempted to open the door immediately afterward.
Though the meats were tempting, the lizard did not see the source of his concern in the kitchen. After surveying the room, he exited away from where he entered. And the building is shaking. Are the stone-throwers being used?
"Your kitchen not safe!"
Moving the guard out of the way if he didn't do so as Vess moved forward, the hunter meant to find the source of the sorcery.
"Then we must find them!" Keeping his ears open, Vess began to circle the chamber, sticking close to the walls, trying to sniff-out the source of this magic - or the blood.
Vess stops a moment, his original suspicion compounded by the odd sensation that washed over him. He folded his hands across his chest, his tail sweeping around to his other leg. "You feel that? Something bad is here! You smell it too ... help me look for it!" Seeing Lance also within earshot, the reptile figured more investigators would be better. "Help us! There is a hex around this place." Not knowing what the phenomenon was, he attributed a term his mother had used from time to time. I hope it is nothing of the sort.
Vess shook his head. "I smell much blood. Why is there so much blood?"
It was clear to Lance Vess seemed to be searching for something, though not simply by sight - sound and perhaps smell were likely involved as he paused every so often in his movements.
His keen senses about him as he observed his new environment, Vess combed-over the area. Hunches had much hold on him, and this one was firm.
Letting out a low growl subconsciously, Vess looked about the table. Nothing here to smell like that. What is that smell?.. Though it was on the tip of his tongue, the name of the scent was a mystery. Seeing nothing suspicious overtly, he left his seat to look around. It has to be somewhere...
Much of the private conversations were now among the people who seemed to be of power. The chief's son and the duplicitous woman both appeared to wield influence, yet neither were at ease. The man who spoke to the son seemed to be an advisor of sorts. Maybe he can tell me what's going on. Remembering to meet with the man later, Vess looked to Sam. "Who is he?" The ranger extended a claw in a gesturing manner towards Lance.
It figures the lizard would notice the things he wouldn't understand!
Much of what was transpiring was quite educational for Vess. It seemed they revered their warriors, much like his tribe. They also liked feasts and stories. Yet their chief was gone. He should be here, no? There was something ... off about how the woman spoke of the man's absence. So the chief must return something to her. But what? In his tribe, it was most common to borrow sons and daughters for tasks for which they were indispensable. With such a weak son, that is understandable. But her daughter is there, and she doesn't seem to worried. He would keep an eye on her. There was bad blood in the air.
What is bad about the rain? In the swamp where the lizardfolk lived, the rain was a good sign, for it excited the fish and made feeding easier. So adapted to the water as they were, tribes often welcomed storms instead of shying away from them. Though the secrets of fermentation were not completely lost to the primitives, it was seldom used, and the wine was a unique and unfamiliar treat. A little fire going down, but it was invigorating. It might be rare though - they pour so little. Alusair's smile was not lost on the ranger. "Ethanial, son of chief Ebonhawk, has good cooks." Though basic, he tried to convey his compliments in hopes the people would not think him greedy for feasting with them while having relatively no connection. In a similar vein, though he did not know how to react to the garrulous tale spun by Lance, he echoed the sentiments of those around him, be they applause or laughter.
Reaching for a haunch of meat, Vess was almost certainly out-of-etiquette unless the platter was right in front of him. Though understanding enough to pass platters if passed to him, he does not wait for much else after the benediction from their host. Though the sarcasm was lost on him due the tongue, the locking of gazes was not. They do not like each other. Why?
Vess grinned. "Hon dii tinvok einzuk wahl zey fraan sulvekaal. Nox hi, Crystal Crownsilver." Draconic:
"Just hearing my language again makes me feel comfortable. Thank you, Crystal Crownsilver." A throaty hiss greeted Ethaniel as a friendly laugh at his attempt. "Nii fon Zu'u aal lost rund pruzah yun brodaan wah aav mindin pah, Ethaniel Ebonhawk, kul do konaar." Draconic: "It seems I may have found a good new tribe to join after all, Ethaniel Ebonhawk, son of the chief."
The lizardfolk had kept his silence for a time. Though he was not in a battle, he felt threatened, vulnerable, and outnumbered. They are all saying things about themselves. I have nothing to say though. Is this the first test to me being their warrior? But not all of these are warriors. The chief's son is here though ... Unsure of the protocol and when the time for him came to speak, the nomad gave the best response he could. "I am Vess'Sothek." He declined to mention his tribe, for he was not sure if the prior loyalty would be an issue. "My line's name is not important now," he said in realization, catching himself, "Vess is good." "Ebonhawk Sam bring me here to be warrior for your tribe. I watch today and learn how you fight ... and how you talk." He felt it necessary to add the last bit seeing as many at the table were not seasoned fighters. "I sorry for bad human talk; lizardfolk speak much the old tongue." DC 5 Linguistics or DC 10 Arcana/History:
He is referring to Draconic by "the old tongue". He paused unsure of what else to say. "Thank you for food. You have good hunter and cook." Though perhaps out of etiquette for the table, it may have looked quite comical to see the seven-foot beast offering quaint thanks for his poultry.
The bull was clearly in command of people here, and his age indicated experience. Vess'Sothek had his doubts, but it was clear Brox knew what he was talking about in this situation at least. "They all come back? How do new warriors join?"
The healers reminded Vess'Sothek of his mother. Skilled, but not the focus of the event. He turned to Brow. "All warriors left alive. Won't they ... revenge everyone now?" Bad blood ran deep when a warrior failed to succeed at a position by combat. Exile was usually the punishment. Such a punishment had been inflicted upon the lizardfolk for no such contest recently though. I will try their new way.
"Brox." He pronounced the "b" harder to show he had the mastery of it. "Yes, I watch." He took a seat not too far from the minotaur.
Before the actual fight started, he wanted to get the right idea in Brox's head. "Lance say I prove to Ebonhawk so I ... become warrior in the tribe." His fishing for the appropriate word took a moment. Why must things be so complicated? With the Shadowscales, only some druidic rites and issues with the shaman were complex. Everything else was survival. Simple.
As the talkative human went to speak to someone else, Vess'Sothek considered his offer. Prove? A hunt then? A battle? He wasn't aware of any wars at the moment. However, from one more intimate with the process... The lizardfolk wandered over to the minotaur. "Grox?" He tested the name. "I am Vess'Sothek, Shadowscale tribe. Lance," he pointed, "say I prove for Ebonhawk tribe. How did you prove for them?"
The warrior tersely nodded. "West inland, yes."
The talking man now talks to me. He is not a warrior though. Weaker. But they do not move against him. I should not either. Vess'Sothek digested the man's words as best he could. Not all of them made sense. What is minstrel? Heroism? But he did understand the terms feast, stories, and, most importantly, service. Do they want me to be a warrior for them? The chief's son is so thin! But the chief might not like me if I offer, it might offend him. Is this the chief's shaman? The reptile cocked his head, was silent a bit longer, then responded. "I am Vess'Sothek, from Shadowscale tribe." His syntax had improved somewhat while listening to the talk that day. "My story is this: We come from Great Swamp, by young sun." He pointed to the East with a claw. "Demons push us out of home. We swim across sea. Go to old sun along coast. We live to town of Il...lipur." He had to recount the name, odd for him. "Many evils there. Most die. We leave Il..lipur. My mother strange, tribe blame her for curse. Make us leave them. Her sister with us, sick. I go to human town for healing. Get arrows. She die, mother leave. Meet Sam. Funny Sam." The lizardfolk smiled a bit on the inside for the bit of kindness he'd received so far Taking a break to see if they understood, he decided to take the risk of offending the elder. He brought me here. I need to make use of it! "I need new tribe. Funny Sam make me guest, bring me to ... joust? For me, is much talking. Humantalk hard for me. But joust harder for warriors. Sam says warriors only special blood. I not have special blood. But can still fight." It was an odd feeling for him. While he was the strongest there, the largest, and probably the fastest, he felt vulnerable as he finished.
The lizardfolk let out a sharp exhale through his teeth, clearly unhappy with the response. "Rule is dumb." Then he thought a moment. "You not a knight? You look like knight." After Sam's response, he gave him an close once-over before moving to do so with the nearest knight. What is the difference?
Taking a peer at this Ethaniel, the tribesguard pointed let out a scoff. "Him?! You are stronger! Why not you fight for him?" Maybe they only let the chiefs' sons fight. That would explain how they have all these weapons and armor.
So much talk! Everywhere he turned, the hunter heard chatter. While he understood a fraction of it, there were three main topics he could surmise. First, the tournament itself. Words for fighting carried easily across tongues as they were often accompanied with gestures or inflections in such a place. He picked-up a few. Impale, that is what our murkdivers do. Next, there was talk of the various families of the participants. They have many tribes here. They show their scales differently with their bright colors, but they really are here to represent their tribes. Maybe we aren't so different after all... However, there were so many names and symbols, Vess'Sothek could hardly keep track. He did note Sam's finery though. If his wins, maybe I can get a place for myself here. Lastly was the boasting. Always the boasting. But about what? The laughs and jibes were clear to the lizardfolk, but he failed to get many jokes. For their tribe, diminuitive phrases regarding one's prowess in battle or physical might fit the bill. Here? Why does the warrior dislike his mother riding donkeys? It didn't make sense. The atmosphere made plenty of sense though. Palpable anticipation was in the air. The moist conditions only helped for Vess'Sothek - after all, that was every day in the swamp. They avoid the mud, but it is home for me. He cast his eyes to the sky, seeing what the next day would bring.
The towering reptile approached Sam after looking about. "Your tribe win much? Many warriors here fight every season."
The large hunter laughed, a frightening sound for those unaccustomed to it, bass and throaty. "Troglodytesss are bothers. Small. Weak." He smiles and looks at Sam. "Sam. Funny." Sam's companions seemed to be uneasy, but Vess'Sothek was taking well to Sam, becoming more comfortable with him the more they spoke.
Food. "I watch and eat food ... with you." The reptile blinked. He put a claw on his opposite shoulder. "Vess'Sothek, Shadowscale." The latter category was more a reflex than a reality. "Who are you?"
Inflections were more universal a language than syntax. This pup means me no harm. Mounted combat. I see now. The lizardfolk listened then shook his head. "Too heavy for horsssesss. And. Clawsss hurt them." He pointed down. A minority even for his kind, Vess'Sothek had powerful claws on his feet as well as his hands. "My land, tournamentsss for might. Ssstrongessst warrior lead." Normally, it would be the subject of scorn to discuss the tribe's workings with outsiders. They should not have left me. I need a new tribe now.
Guest. The word for one welcome for a night. That was one of the common tongue Vess'Sothek knew. A bit of a misnomer for the language to him though, most lizardfolk neither spoke nor knew much of it at all. Over the seasons, he'd gathered a bit of vocabulary from the select elders and his mother. His recent run-in also helped a bit, yet the syntax was odd, the mercurial combinations difficult for him to comprehend. Tournament. This was a word he knew well, for a similar practice determined the leader of the Shadowscale tribe. The strongest led the group, and that strength would be found in one of two ways: a duel from a challenger in the case of a living chief or a tournament among contenders in the case of a chief having passed. The latter resulted in defeated survivors pledging fealty while the former resulted in death or banishment for the failed participant. From the tales he heard, humans did not seem to choose leaders that way. What does the tournament do then? Joust was a word he did not know. They have many, many words. "You guessst I be." The words took him a moment, the accent heavy and the conjugation amiss. "Have a tournament ... why? What isss joussst?" The latter few phrases rolled from his mouth easier.
Revised. Please see the last few paragraphs. I'm thinking the backstory's tie-in with Shar could work well with what I read in another profile here. Background: Bred in the Vast Swamp, the tribesguard named Vess'Sothek was a skillful hunter. While not yet old enough to have the mastery of his seasoned betters, his muscle and mettle proved resilient enough to defend his tribe from the dangers that lurked within the marshy lowlands.
If only his strength of body could move the circumstances that made him what he was. It had been 222 seasons since his Shadowscale tribe had reached-out to Shar for aid. The hunter hadn't been around to see it, but his grandfather, Kor'Thek, lost his life during that time of strife. He lost it protecting his tribe, as did his youngest son, Rhesso'Thek, in later years during one of the ubiquitous skirmishes with the dangerous denizens of the fen. Survived by his elder brother and sister, Vess'Sothek's uncle and aunt, Zran'Korthek and Zree'Thek, the hunter was raised as most of the children were - by the community. He was saddened by the passing of his father, but he was one father of many, and many fathers fell during those years. Vess'Sothek's mother, Sha'Preddok, was the only daughter of her line, and Vess'Sothek her only living child. With the loss of her mate and concern for her line, she sought a replacement. However, her weirding practices made her appear as sub-par stock to seed children. It was not her practice as an herbalist - a reedmaster, the more direct translation went - that was odd, but the ways she went about her work. While most in the tribe called to that work were sometimes shaman or apprentices of druidic rites, Sha'Preddok clawed her findings of plants, patterns of seasons, and poultices' and medicines' directions onto deadwood. Writing was not unknown to the tribe, but the oral tradition was much stronger, and etching was reserved for religious importance. It was as if her work was a religion to her, many saw, her idolizing not even the plants or swamp but rather her own ability. She was seen as a witch. And perhaps she was. Her cures were beyond equal, her perception of ailments before they presented with symptoms uncanny. Yet as much of a blessing as she might have been, the tribe set her apart from itself - far enough so she was not in the midst of the community, but close enough to see in case of emergencies. Isolation was death for the lizardfolk though, and forced isolation a formal shun. By extension, her son received only mixed appreciation and acceptance from his tribe. Though the game he caught was plump and the threats he slew were fierce, he could not fully be trusted by the chiefs and elders with her "influence" still upon him. After all, Vess'Sothek had not shunned his mother, but rather embraced Sha'Preddok's gifts; they healed his wounds after the skirmishes. He was a more successful hunter because of her, and his tribe safer for it. One day, a fell attack came upon them. After the calling of Shar's wicked support hundreds of seasons past, Vess'Sothek's ancestors had notices the demons never left the swamp. They left the Shadowscales to their own area, but they formed a pocket of vile habitat in their own region. Over time, that region spread. Every so often over the years, the demons and Shadowscales would have some sort of argument over territory, resulting in a conflict. No longer allied with Shar, the demons lashed-out from their own will, inflicting considerable causalities. This particular lashing was a decisive loss; the demons overran them, butchering most of the tribe in their suicidal charge. They were more powerful somehow, more persistent... His remaining kin survived, but the mounds and palisades the lizardfolk used for survival and defense were completely destroyed. The gross or so remaining opted to leave their homeland. Human lands preventing resettlement to the East and West, and the demons blocking passage to the North, the tribe skirted the banks of the Dragonmere South, heading West at first. Inevitable conflict from coastal human towns ensued, but the reptiles' superior aquatic ability let them evade skirmished without much issue. That was, until they came across Illipur. The haunted city on the outskirts of Cormyr was a catastrophic discovery for the newly-nomadic tribe. At first welcoming in appearance due the lack of bustling economy, the demonic presence there seemed drawn to them, descending upon the wanderers in their first night. Zree'Thek was severely wounded, And Zran'Kothek lost his mate in the ambush. The elder in possession of the sacred Skull Staff of the tribe's history was spoken to by the demons before he was slain, their foul tongues seeming to question him repeatedly before gouging his eyes out with their claws. As they reached for the artifact, Vess'Sothek's mother grabbed it with otherworldly speed and made for the water with the rest of the survivors. The staff glowed a faint and ominous lavender in her hands. Only a couple in the tribe's remaining few dozen members saw it, but Vess'Sothek was one of them. Once the refugees had begun making their way back up the coast, he noticed she no longer had it. When asked what she did with it, she merely said it went back to the sea, where it belonged. Unfortunately for her, some others heard the response. Jettisoning sacred relics was not done, and there was enough panic in the tribe to manifest as hysteria. They banished her at the next landing, expelling her further north. While Vess'Sothek and his aunt sympathized with her, his uncle did not: Zran'Kothek bought into the mob mentality, hating his sister. While the rest of the tribe moved inland, the remaining three decided to make a connection with one of the human towns in a last-ditch effort to save Zree'Thek's life. Her wounds would not heal, and Sha'Preddok said she needed herbs that would not be found near this land to overcome the affliction. Part of the reason, she told him, was the relic linked the blood of demons to the blood of their particular tribe. Each slain would provide lifeforce for the demons to manipulate; disposing of the staff had been the safest thing she could think of, yet the sapping effect still prevented her sister's recovery. Bargaining in a hostile town would not be easy, but whatever was necessary to save her life would be done. The tribe was everything. Though Vess'Sothek understood his tribe's actions, he vowed to do his best to reconcile the two groups. The first step in doing so was to protect his family. That meant entering town. Bartering with a "monster" would be no easy task, he knew, but he did not expect arrows flying past his head as he made a hasty retreat. I did not charge in ... I did not bare my teeth... While trying to consider a way around the hostility, Vess'Sothek noticed his mother was gone when he returned. His aunt, however, was asleep, bearing a piece of bark in her hand. Odd, to leave her alone... Upon closer inspection, the bark had some of Sha'Preddok's inscriptions on it, but they could not be seen in her hand. One thing was clear after a few moments though: Zree'Thek was not asleep, but dead. Vess'Sothek smelt her for poison, searched her for wounds, and looked for signs of conflict. None were present, but she did not stir to his touch or mourning roar, nor did her chest move. After the brief griefrage had passed and the hunter could see clearly again, he took the inscribed bark from her hand, reading it. Son, The dark magics of the Staff cursed Zree. She would have become a demon. I sent her spirit to the ancestors in peace with her wishes. I who bear her curse now as the darkness was drawn to me in the process. I must leave for your safety. Protect the tribe. There were questions unanswered, and Vess'Sothek was angry and sympathetic simultaneously. But how could he defend the tribe that rejected them? Would they even accept him back, knowing he chose to accompany the shunned woman? No ... he could not help them anymore. Without a tribe to guard, the lizardfolk swam down the coast, trying his luck at the next town. He slew a deer and slung it over his shoulder. Maybe with this gift, they will take me in. If not, they would kill him, but he had little to live for anymore. In fact, the only drive that was left for him was revenge against those that had wronged his tribe, the workers of the dark arts and their demon allies. If the stories were true, the humans knew a good deal about these people. Soon, they would meet their end like the deer. I have failed to protect my tribe, but I can avenge them.
I love the detail Vess but one of the Hunter’s big themes is isolation. Could you dial up the tragedy a bit at the end? The Hunter is driven because he has nothing left (or sees things that way at least). Will do.
Have a look in terms of story. I left the pracise nature of location and interaction up to you, but I can concrete it if you'd like: Background: Bred in the Vast Swamp, the tribesguard named Vess'Sothek was a skillful hunter. While not yet old enough to have the mastery of his seasoned betters, his muscle and mettle proved resilient enough to defend his tribe from the dangers that lurked within the marshy lowlands.
If only his strength of body could move the circumstances that made him what he was. It had been 222 seasons since his Shadowscale tribe had reached-out to Shar for aid. The hunter hadn't been around to see it, but his grandfather, Kor'Thek, lost his life during that time of strife. He lost it protecting his tribe, as did his youngest son, Rhesso'Thek, in later years during one of the ubiquitous skirmishes with the dangerous denizens of the fen. Survived by his elder brother and sister, Vess'Sothek's uncle and aunt, Zran'Korthek and Zree'Thek, the hunter was raised as most of the children were - by the community. He was saddened by the passing of his father, but he was one father of many, and many fathers fell during those years. Vess'Sothek's mother, Sha'Preddok, was the only daughter of her line, and Vess'Sothek her only living child. With the loss of her mate and concern for her line, she sought a replacement. However, her weirding practices made her appear as sub-par stock to seed children. It was not her practice as an herbalist - a reedmaster, the more direct translation went - that was odd, but the ways she went about her work. While most in the tribe called to that work were sometimes shaman or apprentices of druidic rites, Sha'Preddok clawed her findings of plants, patterns of seasons, and poultices' and medicines' directions onto deadwood. Writing was not unknown to the tribe, but the oral tradition was much stronger, and etching was reserved for religious importance. It was as if her work was a religion to her, many saw, her idolizing not even the plants or swamp but rather her own ability. She was seen as a witch. And perhaps she was. Her cures were beyond equal, her perception of ailments before they presented with symptoms uncanny. Yet as much of a blessing as she might have been, the tribe set her apart from itself - far enough so she was not in the midst of the community, but close enough to see in case of emergencies. Isolation was death for the lizardfolk though, and forced isolation a formal shun. By extension, her son received only mixed appreciation and acceptance from his tribe. Though the game he caught was plump and the threats he slew were fierce, he could not fully be trusted by the chiefs and elders with her "influence" still upon him. After all, Vess'Sothek had not shunned his mother, but rather embraced Sha'Preddok's gifts; they healed his wounds after the skirmishes. He was a more successful hunter because of her, and his tribe safer for it. One day, a fell attack came upon them. After the calling of Shar's wicked support hundreds of seasons past, Vess'Sothek's ancestors had notices the demons never left the swamp. They left the Shadowscales to their own area, but they formed a pocket of vile habitat in their own region. Over time, that region spread. Every so often over the years, the demons and Shadowscales would have some sort of argument over territory, resulting in a conflict. No longer allied with Shar, the demons lashed-out from their own will, inflicting considerable causalities. This particular lashing was a decisive loss; the demons overran them, butchering most of the tribe in their suicidal charge. They were more powerful somehow, more persistent... His remaining kin survived, but the mounds and palisades the lizardfolk used for survival and defense were completely destroyed. The gross or so remaining opted to leave their homeland. Human lands preventing resettlement to the East and West, and the demons blocking passage to the North, the tribe skirted the banks of the Dragonmere South, heading West at first. Inevitable conflict from coastal human towns ensued, but the reptiles' superior aquatic ability let them evade skirmished without much issue. That was, until they came across Illipur. The haunted city on the outskirts of Cormyr was a catastrophic discovery for the newly-nomadic tribe. At first welcoming in appearance due the lack of bustling economy, the demonic presence there seemed drawn to them, descending upon the wanderers in their first night. Zree'Thek was severely wounded, And Zran'Kothek lost his mate in the ambush. The elder in possession of the sacred Skull Staff of the tribe's history was spoken to by the demons before he was slain, their foul tongues seeming to question him repeatedly before gouging his eyes out with their claws. As they reached for the artifact, Vess'Sothek's mother grabbed it with otherworldly speed and made for the water with the rest of the survivors. The staff glowed a faint and ominous lavender in her hands. Only a couple in the tribe's remaining few dozen members saw it, but Vess'Sothek was one of them. Once the refugees had begun making their way back up the coast, he noticed she no longer had it. When asked what she did with it, she merely said it went back to the sea, where it belonged. Unfortunately for her, some others heard the response. Jettisoning sacred relics was not done, and there was enough panic in the tribe to manifest as hysteria. They banished her at the next landing, expelling her further north. While Vess'Sothek and his aunt sympathized with her, his uncle did not: Zran'Kothek bought into the mob mentality, hating his sister. While the rest of the tribe moved inland, the remaining three decided to make a connection with one of the human towns in a last-ditch effort to save Zree'Thek's life. Her wounds would not heal, and Sha'Preddok said she needed herbs that would not be found near this land to overcome the affliction. Part of the reason, she told him, was the relic linked the blood of demons to the blood of their particular tribe. Each slain would provide lifeforce for the demons to manipulate; disposing of the staff had been the safest thing she could think of, yet the sapping effect still prevented her sister's recovery. Bargaining in a hostile town would not be easy, but whatever was necessary to save her life would be done. The tribe was everything. Though Vess'Sothek understood his tribe's actions, he vowed to do his best to reconcile the two groups. The first step in doing so was to protect his family. That meant entering town. Bartering with a "monster" would be no easy task, he knew...
Present. My crunch/inventory are done. I will try to segue the basis of my backstory to make things smooth for a rough beast.
Misdeal? Who said anything about a misdeal? We don't play anything other than an honest game around here. A la pinochle. 5 and none or 6 and one!
If the deck only holds five cards, then those five are guaranteed to be the winning hand... Unless you misdeal!
Competition weeds-out contenders, and FR is not the standard setting for these boards. I imagine many people felt it was too niche for them.
As I said before, my crunch is complete. I have the story for Vess'Sothek mostly done too, but I'm keeping it a little open to tailor to the applicant pool. It's always helpful to have characters with a bit of implicit meshing.
This is Galoria tossing Vess'Sothek's claw into the ring for the hunter position. I am still developing the background, but the crunch is complete for your review.
F&F: Spoiler:
Round 3: Spoiler: Seeing his friend knocked to the ground by this vicious beast, Vess'Sothek's concern about any disease it may carry is trumped by his rage for the creature. He throws himself at it fully, attempting to bite it's neck while his claws thrash at the torso.
Round 2: Spoiler: Vess'Sothek closes the gap with the creature, moving to Rsss'tak's side. It's viciousness apparent, he responds in kind, his claws slashing at their opposer.
Seeing his comrade in (seeming) trouble, the lizardfolk moves to his flank, preparing to lend his aid as soon as possible.
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