nocturnal spirits [abnb vs mutts day 2]

[Tom]

Day never comes; only night stays. Moonlight glittering over the area in a stillness which shakes him to his core. The shiver down his spine feels as if he's being hunted by someone else, but Finnagan Davies is meant to be the hunter. Unnatural gazes seem to burn into his skin as he holds onto the medical kit from the blood river. The evening is nothing more than a warning sign for him. A full silver moon filling the sky above. His eyes focusing on the gleam as his inner voice threatens to scream. The desire to howl in his throat as he pulls himself together. Fingers gripping his thighs in pressure of sharp claws aching through the skin. His eyes glowering up above at the sky. He can't help the desires building in his chest. The need to kill others bubbling through the veins of his skin.

Instead, he looks to Anika. The purpling bruise no longer visible behind the makeup covering the mark. The bruising along his chest has gotten worse with purple smattering through the new hairs growing through. A splattering of hair, (or is it fur?) coming through the purpled skin. A heavy breath as he sinks into the grass surrounded by the blue flowers of a blood river. The smell intoxicating in many ways. A beautiful floral and the stagnant metallic nearby that's threatening to take over everything. The voice comes carefully. "We should rest here." Laying onto his back, he tosses his pack behind him as a pillow for the evening. He's found a solitude to being in the arena. The silence all around is nothing alike to Twelve. In Twelve, there's always chatter somewhere. Miners who've broken even for the day. Rebels hiding in plain sight with their pathetic egos above everyone else. Families surviving their day to day.

"I'll keep watch for tonight." Words fumbling through the air as he grimaces in slight pain at a shuffling of his own stance. "Don't expect it every night though, punk." Covering himself tighter in the letterman jacket, there's a quiet moment where his head drifts to the weakness in his own heart. Was he getting soft? Did he offer to keep watch because Anika reminds him of home? There's no certainty in his heart, but he keeps his eyes focused on the darkness of night. The moon glittering above as he stares to the sky. God, he could use a smoke already. Or a drink. Both would be nice. The day comes to a close with the moonlight crossing the sky, an endless sea of black and white. Shadows dancing along the surface every bit or so out of the corner of his eyes.

The shrill of an organ echoes through; endless sea of death upon his ears. Faces in the sky coming one by one. A Fray, left behind in death, nothing more to the name than death. Finnagan could only feel relief and joy at the sight of a career fallen somewhere far away. The others are from Three, with faces unrecognizable. The one guy had been a cousin to the psychopath from Three a few years back. A smile pulling onto his lips with the venom of his own desires. Three down and twenty more to go. As he stays up for the next couple of hours, he lives in the knowledge that he's closer than he was before. No one could keep up with him. Not even Anika. Sooner or later, everyone in his way will perish. Stabbed through the heart with thorns of his own creation. Ruin beneath his fingertips, the taste of which feeling comfortable. Claws extended out to the moon, reaching for the comfortability in the painful serum underneath his veins.

Morning comes with exhaustion. Eyes opening after his sudden tiredness staggering him to sleep. Body aching all over as hair, (or was it fur?), comes into view. Facial hair starting to burn into his jawline. The feeling of fire all around him as he yawns through the aches. Eyes focusing on the mist surrounding them. The chill echoing through his skin. An uncomfortable feeling of having slept on the cold ground for the night. Letterman jacket only doing so much to starve off the chill. Getting up, he looks to Anika. Bleary eyed and filled with his own early morning grumpiness of bad sleep. Letting the words slip past his lip as he nudges her with his hand, staying a good distance away to avoid being stabbed if she jumps.

"Wake up, princess. It's mornin'.

Stretching out arms, the crack echoing along the fog covered ground. The blood river looking mystical in every means. Metallic smells filling his lungs as he groans in reluctance of leaving, but they had to keep moving. Others surely would be coming to follow. A whole day was ahead of them. Silently, he waits with careful watching eyes at Anika as he speaks. "We should get going as soon as we can. Never know when any of these fuckers will strike." A dark laugh from his throat as he continues. "Though, it'd be their fucking funeral." A shrug of his shoulders as he slings his backpack onto his shoulders once more. Bandana tied around his arm, careful to keep his image up like Anika. Though, he didn't give a shit if anyone back home or in the capitol liked him. None of them mattered. The gamemakers were the only ones he needed to impress. They couldn't give a shit about him if his score was anything to indicate about them, but he wasn't going to let any slip ups make him quit on his endeavors.

None of them knew what thorns he could create. The roses to be plucked and soaked in blood of his own strength. Finn was the predator in all of these places, hunting around to strike anyone down. A laugh wants to burn through his chest, but he leaves it in the back of throat. Sliding down to the pit of his stomach as he marches off, letting Anika follow along. He doesn't work well with others, but he knew there'd be more to the games than just himself. Anika was useful in every way, but he wouldn't let himself be attached or be a friend. Friendships don't last in the arena. All it leads to is death. Having a heart is weakness when it comes to blood. It's why Finnagan's ripped his out years ago. Stabbed through it metaphorically as a child to save himself from the ruin of the world.

The waterfront of an actual lake reaches his vision. Water lapping up to the shore; echoing unnatural to him, but Finn's making his own head believe it's just water. The indigo color with fog fading over the water itself only makes the hair on his neck stand up. The only way forward was the water itself. His eyes glance around as he speaks to Anika. "Looks like we've hit the edge of how far we can go." As the words slip out, he notices the row boats a small bit away. Oh, this was a bad idea. The smell doesn't quite seem as if the water is actually water, but it's hard to tell. Horror films from the capitol have come forth about monsters in lakes. Teenagers trapped upon a boat in the middle of a lake where the monsters lurk to drag them in. A sigh falls from his lips as he continues.

"Well, the only way forward is to get on one of those row boats."

It was a bad plan, but Finn knew there wasn't any other way forward.

Stepping towards the closest boat, he pulls it away from the beached ground as he pushes it carefully towards the water. There's no holes in the bottom, but he's got a feeling in the back of his neck. Eyes seem to be watching them. Careful and interested. Instinct telling him to leave the lake. Except, the way back would lead to running into others. Quieting his own internal worries, he continues. "What's the worst that could happen?" In that single moment, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

As they climb aboard, paddling into the lake. There's a feeling of uneasiness that burns through his chest. Somewhere, he feels as if a thorned vine grips at his chest, tugging and pulling with all it's might. Eyes focused on the water and the way forward. Avoiding surprises from other tributes should have been the least of his worries, but he couldn't keep his big mouth shut. As he rows, he notices a movement from the water. Eyes focused on the slight movement as his heart tells him. It's fucking real. Something's in the fucking water. Voice uneasy as he speaks. "Did you see that fucking thing?" Hopefully pointing it out to Anika would make it less real, but as soon as his voice comes out. There's a shadow somewhere there.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

His crossbow is tied to his hip, there's not enough time to pull it out. Instead, he feels the ache at his fingertips and takes a heavy breath. The serum coursing through his veins as he continues to talk. "This is fucked. Watch out, Khan!" Swiftly leaving the oars in the slots, unable to fall into the water, he moves. Heart hammering in his chest as he can feel the ruin beneath his fingertips. There's only one way to take on a shadow spirit. Finnagan Davies had spent years learning the shadows very well. His eyes weren't wrong. There was something there. In the water, they were being watched. A surprise attack was imminent, but he wasn't going to let some muttation get the jump on them.

"Alright fucker, let's go. Mano a mano!"

Veins burst with the ache of claws forming, sharp and pointed as he lashes out.

Let the fucking hunt begin.

[Finnagan Davies attacks Shadow Minion(s) with Claws (knife)]
MJZ0r16RT3knife
(Shallow Cut on Chest 4.0)

knife

[kap]

The faces that shine in the sky don't mean much to you. It just makes you less than impressed by the upper Districts, if anything. Weren't the upper Districts supposed to know what they're doing? Weren't District One tributes supposed to have trained for this? It was a Fray, too. What happened to cause that fuck up? Oh, and weren't the District Three tributes supposed to have some superior level of intellect? Perhaps what you'd been told all these years was wrong. To be fair, the two of you were from Twelve, and were doing better than those three tributes did already. A smile crosses your face. So far, so good.

Finnagan keeps watch on the first night. You're not quite sure why he offers to do so, but decide to get your beauty sleep. Rest is important here, not just for looking good and feeling good, but for being ready to fight as well.

In the night, you dream of something vicious, only to discover that it's yourself. At first, it's like something is chasing you: something hunting and hungry. It has fangs and malicious intent. It wants to kill, and then, before you know it, you're the one running after the prey. You're no longer being chased. Rather, you're chasing someone else. You pounce on your prey and dig in with your… fangs? When did you get fangs?

"Wake up, princess. It's mornin'." Finnagan's voice rings in your ears, and you sit up, gently rubbing sleep from your eyes. Almost immediately, you check your teeth, just in case that dream was telling you something.

It was.

You had fangs. You were like a damn vampire. What the hell was going on? You supposed it fit with the spooky aesthetic of the arena, but it still wasn't quite right.

Your ally speaks up again.

"We should get going as soon as we can. Never know when any of these fuckers will strike." His laughter sounds venomous. "Though, it'd be their fucking funeral."

You smirk.

"Let's get moving, yeah." You stand up next to him. "You're right, though. They wouldn't stand a chance."

As the two of you walk, you remain relatively quiet, keeping an eye on your surroundings and a grip on your scythe. You're not so sure you're ready to use your fangs quite yet. You and Finnagan reach a lake, and he says that you'd need to use a boat. You nod and comply. No sense in arguing. He is right, after all. You know it's probably not the best idea, but it's realistically the only idea other than backtracking or swimming, and there's no way in hell you're swimming.

The two of you paddle in the boat, but it doesn't take long for a disturbance to make itself known. Something moves in the water, and Finnagan beats you to pointing it out.

"Did you see that fucking thing?" he asks before he starts cursing more.

"Yeah," you breathe.

"This is fucked. Watch out, Khan!" he shouts, as if he may actually care about your safety. "Alright fucker, let's go. Mano a mano!"

"Let's fuck it up!" you agree.

He lashes out at the creature, whatever it is, seemingly using nothing but his… nails? Does he have claws? There's no way he could fight with just his nails… surely he had something else. Was this some werewolf and vampire shit going on? What the hell?

You decided it best not to question things, and attacked the water creature with your scythe.

"Die, bitch!" you shout at it.

lyrics: "Nightmares Never End" by JT Music

[Anika attacks the Shadow Minion(s) with her Reaper's Scythe (glaive)]
jybNo3rdUjglaive
[13140 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage]

glaive

[lance]

The Master's Favored Servant


Y̷͙̭̮̲̦̔͗̔̄̀͒̉͝o̸̺̮̔͋̔̀̑͘ǘ̸̯̹̳̱̖̩͑͐̓̎͝͝'̷̡̞͎̤͓͍̫̻́̈́͋͛̆̋̽͌̚͜͠v̶͖̗̺̓̔̂̓͘ȩ̷̨͍̬̰̜̥̬̭̀̒̓͒̎́̕͘ͅ ̴̥̱̙̤̭͉̰̱̍m̶̛͔̯̫̝̼̱̼͕͐̍̈́͂̅͆̚̚͜ả̵͔̪̇̌̾̓̕͝d̴̩̕ȩ̶̱̼̱͓̝̔̐̃̈͆̈́͌̉̚̕ ̵̧̛̩͖͇̪͖̝͚͓̹͆͗̈̉̇͗̂́͐â̴̛̰͔͇̓̈́͑͋͘ ̸̨̨͙̘̻̩̱̱̙̅ͅm̶̱͗͋́̆̆̊̽͝͝ͅȋ̷͙͋s̵̠̱̦͙͎͕̃̈́̽̀͊̂̈́̑͌t̵̡̙͕̩̫̠̪̪͎̊̀͒̍͛̓̑͗̒ȧ̵̱̻̳̬̩̓͂ͅḱ̴̨̙̥̱͙͈̗̮̣͎̆̒̏̂̈̾̕é̵̡̡̤̬̳̤̱̝̇̆̾̓͌̆̍̄̕ ̸̢̧̢͍̬̱̈̏̐͜͠ͅv̵̖͓͚̗̭͉̪̰̮̒͜ȩ̸̛̟̼̞͍̜̯͋̏͗̉͝ń̴̝̹̖̰͈̬̬͖̞̎̀̚t̴̤͚̭̻̭͆̓́̾̓́ų̷̨̢̮̼͇̽̔r̶͚͎͇̓̑͑̎͂̂͊̏͂͘ͅį̶̤̱͙̲͙͖̦̯̀ņ̶͖̱̯͍̹͈̟̼͊͋̏̓̾͝ğ̶̪̭͍̙̳̭̹̌̚͝ ̸̧̛͈̞̜̐̂h̶̳̗͉͖̱̱̺̱̑͒̆̎͝ȩ̶̟͙̠̻͉̔͘ŕ̶͓̙̯̤̄̐͘ȩ̴̨̡͓̗̤̻̼̖̑̃͐̇̚͘,̴̡̣̱̝̞̪̑̍̔̄̈́́͜͜͠ ̵̧͖̣̰̜̖̪̀̇͐̐̓̓́̐̍̚ͅm̷̨̜͈̮͎̭̑͑̉̓̈̾y̷̨͍͔̥̤͙͉̤͓̍͆͒ ̶̛̯͎̓̉̂͂͗̈́̕̚͝s̴̼̝͙̗̯͔͗́͂w̶̺̅͝͝e̸̢̧̱͍̬̣̥̘̅̑ẹ̸̭͌̏̿͝͠t̶̝̙̒̐́̽̓̕͠ş̶̤̠̬̘͂͂̃͆̄̄͑̑͊

F̷̜͍̙̹̤̜͕̲̞̓̒̈́̉͐́̓̚i̷̢̧͎̳͖͖̼̰̳͚̊̄̄̆́̔̒́̊̚n̷̨̖͍̩̫͖̰͙͖̂̆̾̄́͑͒̚͘͜͝ñ̶̖̯̞̤̘͈̤̏͒̓ā̶̹͙̪͐ğ̸͕ą̷̡̱̠̪̜͂̃́̉̅̔̚̕͠n̸̨͖̦̲̠͗̉̌̈́̔͌͝.̵̛̣̩͇̰͈͔̿̈́̀̕.̸̛̳̙̼̺̖͙͕͎̭̈̌̉̍̀ͅ.̸̢̧̼͓͒̌̀.̸̨̜̩͚̙͉̝͚͚͋͂̀́̎͐͑̀̍A̸͙͈̐̐̄͛̈́̊̌͗̍͝n̵̨̛̮̥͖̲̊̿̎͐̀̈́̚͠i̸̧̛͎͓͐͑͗͆̅͝͝k̸͔̭̹̐̏̈́̃̚̕ā̸̢̢̨̼̬̟̯͋̂̊̅̕.̶̮̣͚̏.̶̡̖͔̤̮͈͐̀̿.̸̡̺͓̠̦͙̀̎͗.̸̢̙̱͚͔̈́̀̑

Ȇ̴̛̮̘̝͇̅̏̿̅̒͠͝͝m̸̢̨̺̦̙̩̦͍̝̓̆̇̑̚͜b̵͚͍̰͖̣̤̮̳̎͋̈́̈́́͜r̸̛͓̙̥̋̽̈͗̓̈̃͌̏a̵̖̰̱̝͎̅͋̀c̵̢̫̣͍̳̳̅̑͂͌̔͂̒̿̋͜͜ę̷͔̥̙͔̅̓̿͛̇̋̂͝ ̴̪̳͆̎̐̋̒̑͋̂͗̚t̶̪̰̹̹̞͚̹̥̿h̶̨̡̡̳͉̘̥̀̇̌̂͐̓́͆̆ͅͅe̴͉̼͎͉͇͘ ̸̧̧̱̤̻̻̣͕̳̮̔̈́d̵͕̺͈̦̮̽̿͌͑̚ā̶̠̜̞͉̪͖̩̘̑̀̈́̆̀̓̈́͝͝r̴̹͐̓͑̒̌͠k̴̡̨͎̻͔͓̜̘̇̀̄̄͂͘͝͝͝n̷̫̭̹͌͆́̐̑̋̑͋̕͝e̸̮͚͖̬̞̱̪̞̿̂̃̾͛̌̂͆s̵͓͚̝̀̓̽̆̇s̴̤̄̇͊̉͂̎͛.̷̧̡̥̲̘̻͈͗͋̀̾̕.̷̢̛̰̱̼͕͍̃.̸̱̪͇̠̎́.̸̧̰̦̹͓̗̱̔̈̅̏ě̴̜̺̰̀̈́̀͂̈́͊m̶̢̭̰͕̠̦͘ḇ̶̱̦͙͓̺͒͋̋̒̔̍͊͌̅̚r̷̛͕͓̼̓͋͆̊̾̾̽͝ͅa̴̧͙̗̰̭̯̩͑̽̈́̇̓̈́̓͝c̸̥̰̊̀̀͐̈́̍̈́͘ę̷͓̦̬̫͎͍̭̄̓́̑̔̾̕̕ͅ.̵̨͍̳͕̙͇͖̂̐.̶͉̻͒͐̽͌̂̃̎́̚͝.̸͎̖̦͎̪͍̉̄̅̃͑͐̚



the master's favored servant attacks finnagan, claws

BDFIQtyaVYknife

2034 -- Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage


the master's favored servant attacks anika, more claws

knife

2182 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage



Y̵̢̞̮̤̜̺̞̠̏̓͝Ơ̶͎͛̋̎̈́̕U̷̢̧̜͎͔̦͇̲͒̚̚R̴͎̹͗̇́̑ ̵̹̣̊͌͐̊̈́͠͠D̸̛͓̘̺̓͌̇̾͑Ḗ̷͚̙̝A̵̧͇̟̩̝̪̻͍̍̉̑̀̋̑͌͜T̵̮̟̑͂̏Ḩ̴̳̘̻̰̪̰̽͊͂̅̀͐̓ͅ

knife·knife

[Tom]

Un-fucking-believable.

Not only does his own claws cut into shadow, but his eyes widen in surprise at the sharpness of them. Crossbow left on his hip with the burdening knowledge that he'd reacted to his own primal instinct to lash out. The burning of claws against whatever flesh the shadow had echoing through his veins. Ichor dripping through his vision as he lets the feeling swallow him whole. The desire on the edge of his lips. A taste of uncertainty beneath the surface. A wound not as deep as he had hoped bursting through his eyes. The smell in the air filters to a vile that's unnatural to water, but close enough to barely even notice.

"Let's fuck it up!"

Anika's scythe coming forth as he watches with a surprised look. Were those fangs? What the fuck did Elysium give them? Ripred, he was going to curl up and forget about this. Right now, there wasn't any time to think. Instead, his eyes watch Anika who's voice rises, skipping across the fake water as if it were a stone tossed at the right angle. "Die, bitch!" Not entirely surprised by the swing, Finn shifts his weight to counteract her swing. Boat rocking along the water with a swiftness and strength that'll tip them over if they're not careful. Nothing could be worse than a wet outfit in whatever hellscape they've been put into. An anger burns through his chest as he moves forward to shift.

What comes next, breaks his mind. Not because he's scared or worried, but because it's unlike anything he's ever seen in a games before. Finnagan. Anika. The voice. Nothing sounded exactly like the creature. That eerie voice of someone who's long been locked away by his own doing. A criminal who's never escaping the Detention Center. Except, he swears it's the voice. Looking towards Anika, he's unsure if she's hearing the same thing. A trick of the ear? Embrace the darkness... Embrace... The chill runs down his back, unable to react fast enough as the shadow lurches forward. Claws of it's own bursting at the seams as if they're his own hands. Could they be? Was this that guy? Blood burns through his arm as claws jam through it completely. Holes where flesh once was. Eyes widening from the sight of the wounds as he can feel the burn echoing along his skin.

Fuck.

YOUR DEATH!

"Fuck!"

Ruin was meant for his hands. Ichor drips from his veins. Claws extended in fury. The primal anger bubbling through his chest. Anchors attached to his feet as the boat rocks once more. Mano a mano. The shadow versus Finnagan Davies. Too many people wished for him to be dead. All pathetic beings who didn't understand what righteous fury would get them. Hands meant for destruction. Life meant for greed. As he pulls back, letting the blood drip from the wounds, fire in his veins. There's an anger bubbling through him. No one gets to fuck up his arm and get away with it. Not even some shadow who's using their fucking voice against him. A gamemaker's trick. Clever, but not clever enough.

"Whatever this fucking monster is, it's not fucking normal."

Neither was he.

Pushing forward, he steadies his feet against the wooden floor of the row boat, extending his hands forward. Primal in all action, he slashes for the creature. Pain blossoming from wounds as the thorns of his past wrap around his throat. Cutting into the words as he yells with an annoyance present.

"The only fucking one that's dying here is you, Motherfucker!"

[Finnagan Davies attacks Shadow Minion(s) with Claws (knife)]
wQa12GtKsNknife
(Shallow Cut on Cheek 3.5)

knife

[kap]

When you hear it hiss, saying that you shouldn't have come here, along with your names, and to embrace the darkness, you're scared. When you hear it say "your death", chills creep up and down your back. Petrified.

Your ally lets out some profanity and says something about it not being normal. No, really? You never would've guessed that, surely. He shouts at it again, insisting that it'll be what dies, and you quietly hope he's right. Your adrenaline is pumping, but when this thing cuts him, you start to fear it may be worse than you expected. You manage to dodge its attack on you, but you can be pretty sure that it's not going to stop anytime soon.

You need to kill this thing, one way or another, and you're not entirely sure if your scythe or Finnagan's claws(?) even did anything to it. You thought you felt your weapon make contact with something more than just the water, but you very well could have been wrong. You'd never really used a weapon before the training center, after all, and you'd certainly never fought something that was in the water, for crying out loud.

"What the hell is this thing?" you shout to Finnagan.

You then turn your words to the shadow beast.

"What the hell do you want with us? We're not going to lay down and die for you!" You're demanding information you're almost certain you won't get, its demonic growls from before implying that it does and says whatever it can to just freak you both out. It's not trying to be helpful, it's trying to scare you.

It wants you to give up, but you know better than to comply.

Ripred knows you're stubborn, after all.

You take a deep breath. You ready your weapon again. This thing needs to fuck off, die, or fuck off and die. You'd most prefer the last of those options. If it would die and sink to the bottom of this lake, you'd be satisfied. You don't want to hear its voice again, and you're certainly not ready to know what it would feel like to die to this thing.

So, you simply won't let it kill you.

lyrics: "Nightmares Never End" by JT Music

[Anika attacks the Shadow Minion(s) with her Reaper's Scythe (glaive)]
F5LN|k1eSEglaive
[13148 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

glaive

[lance]

The Master's Favored Servant


Ḥ̸̣͈̰̳̣͕̝͎̞͔̘͗̓͆̍̄͑̀̈́͑̎̄̐͠͠ą̵͓̝̼͖̫͇̯̹̤̾͂̄̈́͋̔͒́̒̿͋̇̓͘h̷̨͓̹̥͉̥̝͇̭͑͊̂̓͜͠ͅą̵̢̙̬̗͈̬̻̖̳̮̤̀ḫ̷̨̡̛̛̘̩̼͈͕̣͈̇̈́́̂̐͌̀̓͑̈́͘̚ą̶̟̥̮̟̹͊̌͛̈́͒́͐͘̕͠ḥ̵̼̩̺̻͋̀̓͛̊̆̈͌a̸̡̨͙̯̩̙̪̽͋͊͛h̵͈͔̙̮͉͈̟̬̃͜͝ä̶͇̭̮̦́̀̍͘͘.̷̡̢͓̰̻̲̲̫̗̂.̶̧͕̝͙̣̩̥̰̘̺̺̼̱̈́ͅ.̷̧̥̳̘̬̻̝̫͕͇͈̤̲̮̦̆͆͊̽̐͘̚

G̸̢̙̲͍̱̦̺͈͒́͛͗͜ọ̸̧̺̗̙̖̅̓̏̂͗̈́͆́̕͘o̷̙͎̘̟̥̩̣̲̼̺̽̓͆̒̂d̶̹͍͈̜̯̗̹̤͇̖̠͒͊̎̂̔̎̃̃̄̃̒͋̚͝͠.̸̧͚̤͕̪̯̯̯͓̞̳̎̉̍̒̿̈́̊̽̈́͊͌̎̈́̄͝.̵̳͇̗͉̻͔̋̑̾̎͝.̵̳̝̪̮̱̝̪̹͕̩̻̰̞̏̒̄̄̿̊̾͝g̷̨̛̼̳͛̇͂͛̓̒͒̑̕o̸͊̍̚ͅȏ̴̢̼͎̟̃͑̈͑̅̉̂́̏̆͘̚d̵̡̟̭͇̙̤͎͙̗̠͐̒̂̓̀̎̒̓!̵̡̧̳̝̫̳͙̫̇͋͊́͗͌̅̀̽͛͠͝ ̶̡̛̱̞̃̊̐͌̄̊͋̀T̵̢̝̳̬͓͔͚͎̠̖̥̖͋̂̋͂̓͛͐̏̆̄̿̓̚͝͝ͅh̵̨̛͈͚̾̐̑̇̓̆́̊̽͒̊ë̴̡̨͇̱͍̟͚̞͍̳̤̑̿͝ ̵̜̺̀̑͌͜m̷̮̻͍̲͔̦͌̌̎̓̽̈́̎̀͝a̸̢̺̦͔̻̮̯͓̱̍̈́͐͑̑̚ş̴̧̛̼̠̺͒̌̊̄̾̐̀̋͑͒̓͑̕t̵͖̣͕̺̯̄̋̂͌͆̕͝e̴̤̠̓̈́̿̀͛͛͆͒͐̀̔͘͝ŗ̷̛̠̻̻̫̳̪̱͋͋͋͛̉͒̈́̽̈́͌̑̉͗̕ ̸̠̰͚͚̼̏̊̔̒h̵̢̛͍͈̦̻͈͇̺̬̰̟́̿̔̍̈́͌́̇̔̅̍̕͠ą̷̞͚͙̪̏̉̂̽̓̏́̈̚t̴̢̪̤̹͚̬͓̦̪͕̋̎̊͒͊̾͝ę̴̧̟͇̣̟̜̖̪̺̞̘̗͙͖̒́̽͌̕͝ś̵̺̩͕͋͐͜ ̸̨̜͖͓̯̭̻͙̊̋͒̈͑̀̒͊ȋ̵̠̹̫͖͚̫̞͖͇̕ͅt̷͈̪̺͔̠̭͎̺̹͈̲̎̍̓̎̏͝ ̵͖̾̅̀͛͛̇̈́͋̿̕͠ẅ̶͉̺̪̩̻́͐̅͛̉̕h̶̡́̍́̇̄̈̓̈́̽͝͝ę̴͖̘̼͔͈̝̙̺̳̈́͋̎̏n̶̝̹̗͋̀͂̒̈͛͐̓͝ ̸̩̻̣̗̣̤͗͐͐̊̋͒̀̐͋̿͒̐͜͠͠ẙ̷̧̮͓̣͎͙̫̖͜͜ͅo̷̗̱̰͖͙͈̘͑̃͊̍͂̄͘͝͝u̸͙̩̱͚̼̩͋̆͋́̔̉́ ̴̢̢̹͖̠̞̙̙̪͓̦̼̀͋͑̂̏̃̃͛̌̂̕͝ͅs̵̛̫͔̘̜͍͎̦̣̐̿͗̂́̍̆͠t̴̲̪̺́͌̈́̓͒̀͂̿̾ŗ̵̧̯̲̼̣̥̮̭̮̥̓̋u̸̹̹̞͈͌̐͜͠g̴̡̨̤̜̩̱͎̙͇̼̥͖̞̗̅̈̏ģ̶̨̨͔̙̼͍̦̈́͛̒l̴̛̛̀́̑̑͆̉̃͐̄ͅë̸̢̹͑̽̇̋̊͛̆͌̏̀̓̇̚͘.̵̧̢̨͍̰̟̜̣̩͓̖̞͇̣̈͑̒͒̈́̊͘̚̕͝.̸̢̲̱͚͌̈̽͘.̶̧̹̥͍̜̭͍̟̋̓̍͗͛͐̏̽͛̑̀͊̌̕͜͝

B̵̹͈̟̖̟͊̎̌̆u̶̯͈̓͊́̐̂̍̾̍̕̕͝t̸͎̙̹̭̅̐̊̈̏̐̈ͅ ̷͎͕͎͓̱̞̙̑̒͜m̶̢̧̢̯̰͓̖̙̤̫͐̒̂͊̓̚͜͜ȩ̶̢͇̜͎̼͕͇̪̮͉̰͍̓̍͘͝?̸̡̣̿̃̇̒́̒͘͝ ̷̢͍̠̘̮̔̕İ̴̢̼͍̖͔̹͎̒̑͛̃̄̌̐̈́̚̕͝͠͠ ̶̱̩̗̳͓̯͔̐̈͆́̌͘͝͠ļ̸̗̬̙̹͔̆̏̇̆͠o̶̡̰̰̦͎̣̪͕͔̳̹̹͍͑͊̐́̔̄͗ͅȍ̵̢̺̣̄͆̓̽͋͋͑̐̀̓͝͝ő̷͓̫̗̝̰̣̰͉͎̬̞̗̩̅̒̊͂ͅọ̶̡̦̤͍̬̭͍͖͓͍̫̍̽͌̅̇͂o̷̧͕̥̲̿́̇̔͒̍̋̕͝ͅö̴͈́͐͊͛v̶̻̹̖̼̹̲̝͔͎̹̪́̒͂͌͌͌́̾͛̕͝e̸̡̯̼̋̈̍͊̅̆̈́ ̸̨̮͍̼̏̄ì̷̡̟͎͚̗̘̥̦̤̟̕t̴̢̛͈̦͉̻̗̞̹̜̲̮͊̐͋́̔̿͐͘͝.̶̖̼͗̌́̇̀̃̈́́̌͝ͅ

K̸̡̧̨͓͖͖̞̤͈͇̒́̑̏̅̓͆͛́͐͋͛̀̕͝ė̴̡̡̢͌̍̾̽̎͠e̶͓̱̝͇̜͇̲̐̍p̶̧̮̬̹̗̝̈́́̏̾̇͗̅̓̐͊̈́̍̕͠ ̷̘̅f̴̩̰͕͓͑̒͊̽ĩ̴͈̖̠̝̜͊͊̉g̶̡̢̪͕̥̗̺͍͉̳̜͈͆̎ͅḣ̸̠̱̫̻͓̟̖͙͋͌̅̀́̽͑̔̂͐̚͝͝ͅţ̵̰̼̣͖̱̰̩͙̝͆̎̌̈̂͘͘͝i̵̛̬̙͖͙̺̍̾̋͌̒̍̽̾͒n̸̨̨̢̜̞̜̜̫̯̣̺̟͆͒̈̇̈̐͆̽͘ḡ̵̦̳̗̾̈́̀̓.̶͎̞̬̹͑̉͛͑́̾̿͒̾̍̇̋̚ ̶̛̝̠̭͇̀̔́͑͐͒̃̓͘͘̕͝͠K̸̦͉͉̫̉͑͛͌̐̊̆͐͑̍͗͗̃̚ḝ̸̜͇̊͗̂̅͒̒̽̂͝ę̵̡͚͚̦̻̹̲̪̭̬͙͎͂̐̀́͠ͅͅp̴̝̱̪̥͓̪͓̦͖̒̅̓͆͝ ̵̛͔͚̜̠͇͙͎̯̙̣̰͚͛̉̔̃̔̄̀̓̓́̕̕͝͝ŝ̶̛̟̼̗̯̼̅͂̈́͐̾̐̓̅͑t̵̹̬̩̪̽̒͒̇͆͛̕r̷̢̨̧̠̹̤̖̰̗͍̺̭͈͗ụ̷̡̰̫̪̯̝̗̀̓́͒̍̄͘g̵̞̻͎͆ͅͅg̷̢͉̦̱̱͇̊͊͊͑͂͂͋͊̐͐͊́̉̕͠l̵̡̛̬̖̪͖̳̹̬̥͔̥̟͊͂́̾̌̿̅͒͂͝ḯ̸̡̩̪̥̦̺̜͎̰̤̪̯̣̯̬̑̀̓́̒͌́̅̓̉̔̓͝͝ņ̴̢̯̹̘̫̙̞̼̔̀̍͋̍̎̓̅̿̑̍̆͜g̴͚̐̇̐̒͋̇̓̾̃͂̉́́̕̕͜,̸̧̡̡̰̜̖̦̞̮̯̬̠̠̒̽̑͑̄͆̑͒̚̚͘͝͝ ̴̖͕͗m̶͈̺̲̦̩̘͑͂͒̈́͜y̴̘̐͛̚ ̵̛̙̼̪͗̽͂͗́͒̍̓̓̚͘̚͜͜s̸̨̭̲̻͖̗̜̤̪̥͈̏̍̎͊́́͒͌̑́͊͝ͅw̶̻̬̭̭̪̻̻̖̩̲̦̲̖͋͊͆̅̾̇e̴͇̫̙̒͂̄͐̓͐͘e̵̡̤͖͖̊̾̆͆͒͆̾͜͠t̷̝̣̙̜̥͍͚͇͖͌͛̾́̀͒̕͠ş̵͓̟̹͔̮̝͑̃͘



the master's favored servant attacks finnagan, claws

iytzRsG4dlknife

2185 -- Stabbed in Chest -- 9.5 damage


the master's favored servant attacks anika, more claws

knife

2178 -- Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage



Ǐ̵̧̡̖͕̻͓̼̪͔͈̝̥̰͖͕́̓̒͛̊͝͝͝t̸̨̤͙̺̆͂̾͑̽̈̒̈́̿͛͠'̶̬͖̱͚͉̓̅̌͌̔͑͆̈̑͜ḷ̴̱̤̹̿͋̅ļ̶̩͕̗̞̯͈͖̬͕̞̌̉̔̚̕ ̷̢̰̟̞͉̤̞̪̦̒́̅͋͆̇̓̃̈͗́͝m̵̡̢̦̳̗͇̞͌͜ͅạ̸̡͈̭̯̒̈́̊͋̂̊̿͆̍̀͌́̓͘k̷̬̜͉̤̣̹͇͈̯̗̥̫̆͊̋͜ḝ̵̤̳͕͎͇̯͋̀̉̓̓̀ ̶̧͓̹͉͚̌͐͑̓v̷̡̙̝̠͉̊͒̽̐͒̂͌̇̋̍͒͆̔̕̚ͅi̸̧̨̡̳̯̬͚̗̲͕͉͉͖̊́̂́͛͋̕c̶̯̟̭͖̤̬̅̇̄t̶̡̟̹̭͎̎̓̈́͠o̷̢̯͙̤͎͕̻͚͗̔͆͋̅̈́͂͗͑̈́̈͝ṟ̴̹̤̺̪̤̃̿̐͆̃̇͐̄̎y̷̮̿̄̉̅̈́͊̋̾͗̂̊͗͘̚̚ ̶̰̹͕̼͙̘͎̜̄t̶̨͖͙̞̼̤̜͔̠̗̤́͒̃̌̽̑̒͜͝͝a̴̧̨̨͓̠̥̪͎̼̯͕̬̘̍́̀͋̕͜͝ͅş̴̛̟̯͙̘̮̼̮̞͔͖͔̞̜̠͌͆̋͂͑͒t̵̡̛̘̦͉͍̞̦̣͙̹̣̤̾͛̑̽̑̈́̿̊͘͜͝ͅë̷̢̤̱́̔̾̾͂͆ͅ ̸̡̛̻̦͚̲̙͍̤̲̜͉̊̌̑̀̌t̵̛̛̼̞̦̹̀̀͋̀̓̓͆̔̕̚h̶̟̩̼͉͍̗̞͓̼̪̑ą̵̡̖̳̞̮̖̗͇̼̦̒̀̾̍͝ͅt̵̡̛̛̞̤̼͚̣̲͙͚͚͉̲̬̮͑͒̒̿̀̉͌͠ ̷̡̢̮̟͔̪̘̜̳̹̿͗̽́̇͂̈́͒͜͝ͅm̶̡̲̈́̅̔̄͑̈́̋̈͑̏͂̀̇̃ư̵̡͉͙̥͈̂͂̂́̄̌̉͆́͝c̴̠̩̽̉̾̆͋̀̔̔̑ͅh̸̠̯͔̏͒̒͋̿͑͆̍̾̓͝ͅ ̶̧͔͖̯͂̐͜b̶̡͍̹̭́̅̒̓̑͊̅̀̈́̃͒̚ȩ̵͇͆͗̈̄̂͂͌̒t̵̛̪̥̞̻͍̀́̅͜͝ͅt̶͍̱́͂̏͠ė̵͖̓̎͗͊͌͐̿̆͑͘r̸͕̩̜̮͚͍͖̼̞͎͚̈́̌́̐̃̈́͂̀̕̚͝͝

knife·knife

[Tom]

Blood spills in a perfect line of shadow and water; dripping over like the ichor in his veins pumping through him. The shadow's form looks too familiar, annoyingly familiar. His eyes burn with an annoyance as he can feel his claws cut into it's cheek. Red, hot wound licking at his forearm. Burning with the same poison of the arena itself. A monster was attacking them with the strength of the Capitol's might. The burn of knowing he's got to do more to it. The ichor of his own blood dripping and dripping down. Only for the creature to lash out upon them once more. This time ripping into his chest. Blood dripping as his shirt rips completely open with the strike. The pain sears into his skin with a huff of pain.

He's dealt with fuckers who've sworn they could take him down. "What the hell is this thing?" Anika's voice rings through his head, an echo of his own thoughts. There's a fire in his chest as he looks to her and then back to the monster. Fuckers from gangs have done more damage to his body than this shadow. He's got to keep up with Anika and do better. If they keep up their attacks like this, they'll die. "What the hell do you want with us? We're not going to lay down and die for you!" No, they weren't going to. Finn angrily feels himself almost growl at the creature.

The creature's voice burns against his ears. A memory of a someone long gone from his life flooding back in. There's an angry feeling bubbling in his chest as he almost dares to lash out on this creature, but that's what it wants. The creature wants them to lose focus. His voice echoes to Anika as he speaks. "I don't fucking know what the hell it is." Shrugging his shoulders, he focuses back on the monster at hand. His voice sways with poison as he speaks. "Either way, it's fucking going to die."

Pulling back to stabilize the boat, he lashes out with his claws.

"Taste this, Fucker!

[Finnagan Davies attacks Shadow Minion(s) with Claws (knife)]
0j4e3mX3a3knife
(Shallow cut on Forehead 4.5)

knife

[kap]

Mobile filler to keep things moving! Sorry!

lyrics: "Nightmares Never End" by JT Music

[Anika attacks the Shadow Minion(s) with her Reaper's Scythe (glaive)]
d|7gRMlTmlglaive
[13189 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

glaive

[lance]

The Master's Favored Servant


T̸̢̙̰̠̮͛̈́̈́́̿͌͆͝â̸̢͇̺̖͚̬ś̵̢̥̗͍̣͉̮̔̃͑̑̽̈̕̚͜ṭ̶̡͖̺̪̖́̈́̆̃͒͂̆̓͘e̵̡̢̱̹̦̖̒̌ ̷̤̮̲̲̰͔̱͈̌͐̂͛͝͝w̶͉̑͘h̴͍̟̲͕̙̒ä̷̢̰̙̞́̔̿̉͊͑̕t̴̲͛̈́̀͜?̶̣̪̘̈̽̐̅̿̈́ ̶̧͚̥͑̀͐̊͒͆͝T̵̮̹̜̠͚̜̦̙̎͋ḩ̴͎͔́̉̅̽̋̆a̶̛͓̺̯͓͚̼͖͔̾͊̊̈ẗ̶͙̣̳̟́̓̔̐̎͂̈ ̴̻̜̼̪͍̖̈́́͑̄̀͘̕͝ţ̶̰̯͙̔͘͜i̶̪̹̗̬̯̓͗͋̿͝͝n̷͈̭̜̻̐͊̈́ȳ̶̟͇̞̙͖̌̈̿ ̸̪̖̲͖̲͑̈̈l̴͈̮͊͋̂̇̀̊̄͝i̸͚̤͋͜ţ̷̤̭̭̤̿́͝͠ţ̵̱͍̹̩̣̑̉̃͑͜l̷͇̥̳̾́̀͝ë̵̛̜͒͆̓͠͝͝ ̶̘̟͇̼͙̊͘e̴̡̞̗͙̮̝͈̳͒̔͂̄̈͋x̸̧̥͍̮̣̮͇̥͌̈̑̎̈́͌̈̐̏c̵̝̐̔̍̐ṳ̵̂̏̅̀̍̎̏͛̚s̶̨̛̻͔̘͍̮̪̎̌̈̈̈́ë̶̖̞̰̥̱̝̻̱́͒̊͝ ̴̨̛̼̞͕͗̌̋́̆̿̔̍f̵̟̘̪̤͖̱̪̫̻̌̔̃̍͂̏͗o̷̢̼̙̖͍̲̞͉̔̐̕ŕ̶̦̖̥̞͎̺̲̯͑̄̈́̉ ̶̫̠̳͉̭̮̙̳́̿̚͜a̷͓̦̪̜̠͇̎͐̏̏̀͆͗n̵̢͍̟̠̥̤̤̬͊̎͆ ̴̱̖͎̟̠͋̐a̸͉̘̣̮̞̦̝͚̐͋̓̓͆͐̏̕ţ̷̬̘̥̳̭͋ţ̴͎̋̃̂͌ä̴̡̢̡͈͖́̾̓̿͊͛̚c̴̼͎̥͔̏̍̎̂̐͋͘͝k̵̡̭̹̄́͊̈́̓̀̃̃͝?̶̛̪̤̠̮̘̝̬̍͂̓̉͘͝

H̴̺͚̟̎̾͗̚͝͝o̵̲͇̮̭̪͐͛̃͌͋̿̋̚͝w̷̠̅̏̒̔̑͛̎̚ ̴͇̪̗̙͖̼̀͌́͒c̷̼̗̰̣̰̬̈́̈́͌̀̂u̷̝̜͓̮͚̱̍̍͘͠͝͝t̵̢͇͙̥̑̉̿̀͜ĕ̵̙̣̋̉̽͋́͌͆,̴̧̹͈̭̭͈͌̏̇̀̐ ̶͚̣͝F̸̭͔̳̱̼̤̖͔̄̒͑̄̊̚͠ī̷͇̤͓͚̘̈́̽̋͒ͅn̷̲͋̀́̑͝n̷̹͍̰͂͜͝ą̸̡̯͓͓͈̠̦͖̉̇̽g̴̫͈͌̅ȧ̴̧̧̡̪͓̠̹͎̙̆̌̋̀̉̓̎n̶͖̘͖͔̤̱͔̼̈́́̊̑̂̈́̂͑̕ͅ.̶̢̢̦͕̻̥̯̿͊̓́͐̆ ̷̢̮͐͋̑͑̍́̅̚͘Í̶̢̨̬̺̈̇̓̾̑̈́͝ ̴̯̟̙̩͌̄̏͂̑̓͆͘͝d̷̞͎̹̝͓̟͐̊͗̕̕͝͝o̶̡̧̮͕͂̆̽́͌ ̸̭̺̲̟̝̌̿̽̆̽͊̈͒̀s̵̱͙͖̗̐́͂ò̶͍̅̃̉̄ ̵̺͍̬͖̱̬̩͐̏̈͑͛́͌̃͠a̸̱̝͙̥͈̫͑̈́͐̑͠p̶͙͇̏͛̐͂p̸̫͂̌͆ŕ̵̻e̵̜̰̋́̈̈́͆̓c̵̡̛̮͓͉̺̾̅̀̈̈̉̚i̸͎̝̹̝̖̥̬̪͗ͅa̸̘͙͙͚͚̹͙͐͐̀̅̽̾͘͠͝ẗ̷̡̬̭̺̲̪̞͚́̆̾̔̀̔̓̃ę̸̙̩̳̖̩͛̓̌ ̶̡̣̟̱̣̰̫̠̒̋̈́̚͘ÿ̴͉͓̣̲́͝ò̷͚͖̜͇̲̘͚͋̎̌̃ǚ̴̘̙̈́̆͗̇̾͗͘͜ͅr̶̭͔̍̎̄̅͗́ ̵͈̫̊̊̔̓̍̈́c̶̫̠͕̋͂͘ő̴̧̯̓n̸̛̮̜̣̂̈͛͠c̸̛̪̯͇̹̍͆̀̽e̶̢̟̯̋̒̈́̓̅̅̂̿͠ŕ̸̡̲̰̥͚̇̆́̃͘n̸̜͛̑̏̄ ̷̧̛̥̤̠̖̬͙̀͗̀̑͊̌͘f̵̲̮̤̠͗͒̓̑̓̃ͅo̵̢̺̱̭̞̪̘̠͌͊̂̊̋͛͂̊͑͜r̶̛͎̦̣̳͕̐̓͊̓͐̒̀̕ ̷̟̪̈́̍̒͊̅͊̈́͘͝m̶͓̘̖̹̪̰̖͔͂̆ͅy̸̭̮̜̫̒͗͐͋̇̅͌̚ͅ ̵̢̰̝͍̹̺͚͂͂̊̏̇͠h̵̙̠͍̦̮̯̑̅̄̔͛̚ͅe̷̼̰͗̄̎a̴͖̳̐́l̵̡̢͖̺̺̻̙̏̏̈̈́́͂͘ͅt̵͕̼̮̆̄̈́̐h̶̼͚̥̟̹̫̞̟̓͛̂͆̋͗̏̄͜

B̶̢͔̬͔̼͓̗͇̮͒́̓̈́̋̕͘u̴̲̫̝̔̓́͜t̴͚̝̩̦͔̭̋̏͋̉̌́̉̕͜͝ ̶̡̛̳͔̜̭̈́̄͒͌ͅI̴̟̬̫̦̍́̃͗̉̄̽'̸̢̤̞͉̙̐̀͌̈́̈́̆̿̿̀v̷̤͕͈͕̲̱͉̳̝̉e̶̲̪̬͐̏̕ ̵̛̮̩̩̮̄̏͑̆̕à̸̜͎̪̮̝̀ͅl̵̛̘̹̣̲̫͉̰̉̐͊́̓̍̕ȑ̸̡̙̉͗͘͝è̴̛̳̠̯͔͈̊̑̀̎̚͘à̴̀̎̃̅̓̍͘ͅd̷̠͇͙̜͆y̴̢̢̻̥̜͇̣̘͂͜ ̶͕̘̘͍̠̟̮͇̀͒̋̉̃͊͘̕d̶̡̡͉͓͈͉͕̪͊͆͒͛͐ë̴̩̼̲͖́͛̈́̉͂͋͋͠c̷̡̢̞̟͇̹̻̟͒̎̅͊i̷̧̜̗̟̝͑̚d̶̗̰͉̲͉̎͋͠ͅͅe̷̢͍̔̔̀̃̌͐̈́̆̕d̴̞̳̞̘̾̓̑̏̊̀̚ͅ ̸̨̨̧̬̳̭̠̿̒̏͠w̸̨̘̘͋̓̉̀̿h̴͈͓̘̞̗̊̎̓̆̈́́̽̕͠a̵̢̤̠͖͖̞̖̼̋̄͌̌̃͋͝͝t̷̛̖́̿̆̀̅͝ ̸̭̰̳͗͐̃̊̽̃̆̈́͝Ī̶ͅ'̷̪̇̀̍͊l̴̨̡̩̞̬͉̹̘̀̏̉̄̽ļ̷͚͍̺͋́̌̾̕̕ ̸̨̻͓͇͍̝͍͎̯̑̊́̆͠h̶̫̄͊̔̆̕ä̶͔͓̯̫͐̐̓͋v̶̨̧͙́͌̿̀͋̐̍̕e̷̢̡̨̻̲͓͚̺̲̒ ̸̡̠͉̳͈͎͈̠̠̍̆́͑̄́̽ò̴̖̗̟̆̓̅͐̓͐n̷̤̋͗̓̿̄͋ ̸̢̜̰̒̓̌̒̇͗͌͘t̶̠͓̦̗̱̫̽͂̎͊̋̆̕ḩ̶̤͖̙̱̥͇̅̇̈́͒̚é̶̢̕ ̶̠̩̲͓͚̲̆̉͆͋̈́͐̕͝m̸͖̈́́́̂̅̓̿͘ḛ̶̟̊͐̂̋̚͝n̴̰͒̾̇͝u̸̫̙͗̈́ ̵̱͈͂͋̈́̂̈́̇̒̓̓ţ̴̺̘̪̼̯̙͔̄͊ȯ̷̞͈̜̜̅̆̇͗̉͒̈́͘ḑ̷̛̘̲̹̥̾a̸͙͓͉̟̳̲̣͇͚͐̒̕͘y̵͉̩͇͕͓̆̓̒̏̚

Ÿ̸̟̩̙̣́̎̃̃̂͑͜o̸͖̬̤̞͈̝͐̿͜ŭ̸̠̮͈̇̕͠͠r̶̗͖̙̤̦̹͋̍̒̄̅͝͝ ̴̞̽̐ḅ̷̥͎̠̪̈́̄̂͊̉l̴̨̛͍̣͍̙̓̏̚ǫ̴̲͓̹͈̑o̴͉̳͓̐͊̀̈́̽̎̍̓d̵̨̧̦̯̉̑̏̈́̓͒͗̑̐ͅ,̴̳͚̩̣̳͔̫͂̾̍̉̈͘͘͝ ̶͈̥̰͕̤̰̫͔̓̔̓͒ÿ̸̨̧͔̱͈̦̳́̊̑̋͌̑̕͜͝͝o̴̫͓͌̓͗́̀͂͘u̵̻͚̇̃͂̅ͅr̶̮̄̐̏̾̐̐̿̚͝ ̵̢̦̆̉͑͘͝f̵̠̙̗̮̯̬̥̞͈͗͊̈́̕͠͝ļ̶͖̥̟͍̮̥͒̇̋̎͋̅̏͘e̶̥͉̰͕̙̫̗͙͛͠ś̷̜̘̩͖͙̤͂̊̾͊̐̃͘͝h̴̬̩͔́͝.̶̜̞͖̟́̂̽̐̂͗̓̔̕.̵̞̦̀̔̀̏̓.̵̙̗͎̖͎̏̎



the master's favored servant attacks finnagan, claws

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2107 -- Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage


the master's favored servant attacks anika, more claws

knife

2186 -- Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage



Ÿ̵̡̹͚̳͍̮̗̯́̿̐̋͋̑̾̆͝Ǒ̶͚̓̈̉̎͝U̵̻̭̣̩͚͚͊R̷̡͍̭͉̖͔͈͕̋̇̇͆̄̀̕ͅ ̶̨̘̲̫̯̤̪̤̀̋̈̅̈́͆̎͗͐Ḽ̷̥̑͐́̓́̄͐̐͘Ï̶̡̖͇̭͇̣̱̯͆̒̀̽ͅF̸̲͆̄̒͛E̴̛̮̘̰͖̐͊͑̄̄̕͜

knife·knife

[Tom]

Halloween is a busy time of year! Have a filler! Please Lance do less lol.

[Finnagan Davies attacks Shadow Minion(s) with Claws (knife)]
ahtHb4sgn9knife
(Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder 3.5)

knife

[kap]

Another filler to keep things moving!

lyrics: "Nightmares Never End" by JT Music

[Anika attacks the Shadow Minion(s) with her Reaper's Scythe (glaive)]
K3EoXvHMYxglaive
[13039 -- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage]

glaive

[lance]

The Master's Favored Servant


F̸̙̗̭̾̏̏̐̊̐į̴̡͔̝̤̤̽̈́́͌̈́͊̀̂̅ļ̶̟̺̊ͅl̴̘̰̗̩̼̆͒͌͜ͅe̷͙̠̘̜̝̗̲̊̿̒͌̋̓̊̕͝ŗ̶̨̣̪͓͎͇͊͆̇͑̄̅͐



the master's favored servant attacks finnagan, claws

7N45B|yb3Hknife

2174 -- Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 damage


the master's favored servant attacks anika, more claws

knife

2076 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage



F̸̙̗̭̾̏̏̐̊̐į̴̡͔̝̤̤̽̈́́͌̈́͊̀̂̅ļ̶̟̺̊ͅl̴̘̰̗̩̼̆͒͌͜ͅe̷͙̠̘̜̝̗̲̊̿̒͌̋̓̊̕͝ŗ̶̨̣̪͓͎͇͊͆̇͑̄̅͐

knife·knife

[Tom]

These shadows really want to be my nightmare? Is it a Yeti? Who knows! Anyways bye bye shadow!

[Finnagan Davies attacks Shadow Minion(s) with Claws (knife)]
OoBkUQlTKnknife
(Block)

Accuracy!

knife
(Shallow cut on right hip 3.5)

knife·knife

[kap]

Filler -fingers crossed-

lyrics: "Nightmares Never End" by JT Music

[Anika attacks the Shadow Minion(s) with her Reaper's Scythe (glaive)]
aYo3geVcbyglaive
[13079 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

glaive