thearena | Sabertooth Tiger Attacks

Who| Everyone who wants to fight Smilodons or run from Smilodons or watch in horror!
What| Sabertooth tigers are rampaging through the Arena!
Where| The forests
When| Monday & Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| Violence against humans and animals! Make your own threads as you like. You can also tag in to run from the tigers, rescue people from them, or watch others fighting them.

The first signs of trouble are noticed on Monday morning. As the snowfall ceases, a foreign rustling could be heard amongst the trees of the forests. The rustling became louder and closer, and soon it was obvious that there were dozens of massive furry beasts roaming the woods. But they weren't the peaceful herbivores of the autumn, oh no. These things were massive, vicious, and on the trail of something to eat.

Those who had taken shelter in the woods would notice them first and likely need to run away. However, the cats would not be contained to the forests for long. By Monday evening, the sabertooth tigers were rampaging through most regions of the arena, ready to tear apart any sorry soul who crossed their paths.

The cats are looking for blood. Will you give it to them?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It came down to a matter of faith, and Cullen had yet to prove unworthy of it. The creature's attention was once more back on the man, but it was injured enough he may have it in hand now. Which allowed her to take a small moment to shift her weight, trying to get the leg under her enough that she was indirectly applying some pressure to the wound even as she kept a sharp eye on the battle before her.

Damn, wretched beasts of the wilds. She'd prefer a rogue band of apostates any day.

A battle of attrition - Cullen's least favorite kind, because they were long and exhausting and never very satisfying. But there was no backing out now - not with the beast the way it was. It would hunt them down if it could, clearly maddened before it was ever sent to them.

Because Cullen had no doubt this was orchestrated by the people running the arena. Nothing here was an accident.

He spared one quick glance at Cassandra, reassuring himself she was at least on her feet, and then made another lunge at the animal, another swipe of his hunting knife.

Maker, he wished he had a sword and shield and armor.

There is little more she can do from her current spot but whip blood and snow at the monster, as well as strike with the club when it comes near enough. But that was her own fault, and she won't curse anything else, from their captors to the Maker, because of it. But he was doing well- she'd never doubted his abilities, especially not after their many sparring matches. Yet there was still a small bit of satisfaction that appeared when faith long held was continuously rewarded.

He lunges in one final time, sweeping the blade up as the beast is distracted by his companion. He can feel the warm blood and viscera gushing out from the wound he caused, soaking his gloves, and there's a sort of dull thud when the animal finally falls over, screaming in its death throes.

"Andraste preserve me," he hears himself mutter, wiping the worst of the blood off into the snow.

She holds her attempt at a vigilant position for a long moment- then simply sits back down into the snow, a hiss escaping her lips as it becomes clear the beast will not be standing again. Damn, damn, and Andraste curse it. She would not be walking anytime soon.

"You should return with the carcass to camp. It would be of use."

Cullen just gives her a withering sort of look. As though she would leave a fallen comrade behind who needed help. Cassandra, please.

He wipes the bloody knife on the snow, then shoves it into a pocket before striding over to her. "Come on, we'll get you back to camp, then I'll worry about what to do with the bloody carcass."

She gives a grunt but, despite a look which speaks to how very much she would like to protest this plan, gives a jerked nod of agreement instead. Pride would not get her back to camp, anger would not mend her leg. And a living soldier was of more worth than bones and flesh and meat, at least for the time being.

These facts do not stop her words from being clipped, however, sharpened with self-directed rage.

"The leg is hopeless without binding. You will have to come to my level for a moment."

He's already leaning down to help support her as she stands. "You will be fine," he reassures her, an arm going around her middle decisively. "It's a miracle we both survived that. I'm just sorry I didn't move faster."

"There is no need to shoulder my failings along with any of your own, commander."

She took a moment to situate herself as comfortably as possible- truly, it was at least a small blessing it was Cullen here rather than, say, Iron Bull, who would likely have delighted in carrying her in bridal style back to camp. But it did not make her words any less true. The man may well blame himself for the fact snow was cold given enough encouragement and opportunity.

"But...thank you."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, almost laughing with it. It was inevitable, really, but she knew him well.

"It was not your failure, or mine, because we both survived and the animal is dead, how about that?"

He gave her a look, and then a careful step forward. And another.

And then another step. It was far from pleasant, but she had certainly marched with worse. That didn't stop the faint, shamed blush caused by needing the help from appearing, but there was nothing she could do about that.

"Yes, it is dead. The Long toothed giant cat. What will they dream up next?"

Dragons. She almost said dragons, but bit it back, not quite willing to think up the ideas for their captors.

"They control seasons and create monsters, and this is the best use it is put to. It is enough to make one despair for humanity."

"They've found a way to defeat death, they claim, and this is what they use it for," he adds darkly - his way of agreeing with her. He wants to move faster, because no doubt they made a lot of noise during their fight - but Cassandra can only move so fast like this, and so he keeps it sedate. One step, then the next.

"The important thing is, it won't be attacking the camp."

"No...not ours, or any others."

Because while they were supposed to be slaughtering those around them, it was difficult to think of their fellow tributes as anything but people suffering the same fate as themselves. Still, she gave a faint sigh. One cat down, how many others left? Or other forms of monsters?

"A pity- for us, not for her own well being- that Harding has not appeared. The lay of the land shifts far too quickly."

"She'd have a field day with it, no doubt," Cullen agrees with a faint smile. "At the very least, she'd be a cheerful addition." There was one thing one could always count on from Scout Harding - an indomitable spirit.

"How is the bleeding?"

"I won't be fainting in your arms before we reach camp like some damsel in Varric's stories, do not worry."

It wasn't what he was asking and she damn well knew it. But the straight answer was...well, it was not very good. She may well lose consciousness eventually, if they do not get to bandaging relatively quickly once the walk was over. No point in saying that part out loud, however, not when there was the increasingly complicated task of walking to attend to.

"The cold is helping."

That would be an interesting sight. Cullen coughs quietly to hide a slight smile, because he's certainly heard about Cassandra's interest in Varric's stories. Soldiers gossip about everything.

That, and Varric had to tell it to everyone and their brother. The dwarf can't keep his mouth shut about things like that.

"We're almost there," he says instead of commenting on it, instead of saying you would know, or anything like that. "We'll bind this up, and then I'll find the Iron Bull and we'll go back for the caracass."

Sabertooth Tiger Attacks

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