[@Sanity43217] - Asset Goal - ?
[@CorvianMERCDB] - Asset Goal - ?

[b][Both characters given more health to work with (+3)][/b]

The clash on the red line turns mean.

Don wrenches for the rim and the shield thug sucks the board in tight, rotates the edge, and drop steps. The round face snaps back in front like a door slamming. Don goes through with the headbutt and meets iron instead of bone. The crack rings up his skull and puts silver at the edge of his vision. The thug’s brow barely dips behind the board. Don’s ears sing. [b]Flare[/b] bites. [b](Don takes 1 HP damage and is under effect of Flare)[/b]

Don’s hands shoot for the straps. The thug feels it coming and twists hard. Leather bites his forearm, the fist loop locks, and the board stays married to his body. The strap is not going anywhere. The cudgel hangs ready over the rim.

Across the sand, Green moves to pen Varius.

The dockside bruiser closes first, net abandoned where it fell. He shoulders in with the boat hook carried low, trying to cut off the angle and keep Varius from drifting to clear sand. The hook twitches for the ankle the instant he thinks he has the step. If the leg is not there, he switches the point to a rib jab and keeps the pressure honest.

The knife runner shakes out his wrists and reenters a beat behind, light on the balls of his feet. He tests the line with two small feints for the sword hand, more tap than cut, and tries to draw the guard. If the wrist shows, he pecks at it to make a lane for the bruiser’s follow. If it does not, he slides half a step to weapons side to hold a better angle for what comes next. [b](Joint incoming attack vs Varius - 4d2+1)[/b]

Up in the boxes, Magnus Salinator does not move. Grand Mayor Maffeo sits forward a finger’s breadth, as if gauging a tide. The crowd ripples; some call for a big swing, some for blood, most for noise.

[center]Neco-Arc[/center]
[center][img]https://ik.imagekit.io/maxxo/La%20Creatura%203.jpg?updatedAt=1758233464283[/img][/center]

On the tunnel lip, Neco Arc cups tiny paws. [b]“Use your head, but not on the shield, nya. Party when they parry.”[/b]

The drum keeps time. The bruiser’s hook twitches again, the runner’s knives hover, and the sand waits on Varius’s answer.