hail to the king
kneel to the crown

royal flames will carve a path to chaos
bringing daylight to the night
let the water flow with shades of red
arrows black out the light

Dusk falls over the northern part of the Bluffs, the coves of the red rock given to the crashing waves of the ocean - their sandy shores a ruddy brown, eaten away by saltwater and landslips. In its final lights, day slips a cool citrus gleam over the ridges of the carmine slopes, cast vermillion in the final vibrancy, and autumnal chill renders all below in indigo softness.

Painted in the lull of curtained night, its blue tremors, the crowning ridges of gold that slip over his sharpened features, Gauthier stretched, warming the teeming musculature gleaming in dusky shade. A vertebrae cracked here, a few digits cracked there, and he relented a great heaving sigh of relief as he pulled himself back together, freshened by the rush.

Toeing the frothing waves cast in from the low tide, he tensed his body and tread the coastal line of the territory to a slope that appeared ready to crumble. Rendered to clay and crackling sandstone, the mass of rocks were mostly held only by the winding roots of a grappling baycedar leaning toward the roaring sea.

A sigh, another quick roll of his shoulders, and he reached to test the strength of his upper body, pulling rock by rock until it became nearly impossible - then grit, pleased with the difficulty and strain, and continued to chip piece by piece, dragging with all the power of his tight core.

@Louve
+5 Exercise to gain strength
+5 Sharpen claws

Art © Ryuu

night is when she most feels alive.

louve is a creature of monsters and shadows, lurking through the bluffs when the hour is late. alone by preference, finding little need for company. instead she focuses on her own self, her needs and desires, testing her skills when prying eyes are not privy.

as the sun makes its descent the heiress stretches in the mouth of her den, feeling the blood rush through long limbs and luring them to action. long strides carried her quickly through the prideland, feeling the galloping beat of her heart. even when her muscles began to burn she did not slow, caring little for those she might disturb. the hour was not that late, yet, and the bite in the air led to the desire for an extended run.

until she reached the cliffs that stretched above the sea and came upon a most intriguing sight. adulthood had given the heiress a heavy dose of confidence, the kind that went hand in hand with desire. more and more she had begun to appreciate the beauty of the physical form, and the sight of @Gauthier straining against the stone was enough to slow her stride.

"it's eez good," she begins, the english words clunky and uncomfortable on her silvered tongue, zat your claws fight for my home and naht against eet." a compliment as she approached, focusing on slowing her heart rate back to its normal beat.

ART | CODE

hail to the king
kneel to the crown

royal flames will carve a path to chaos
bringing daylight to the night
let the water flow with shades of red
arrows black out the light

The mound crackles under his pull, dislodging clay and sand, root and stone; the tree, upended from its grasp, leaned further into the beach. Its gray-green claws reached out for the lap of waves, the vehement course of foaming white heads that licked his heels, shuddering for a longing to return as we all will. Into the depths of the fold, the void, the brine slick harrows whose womb swelled with toothy beasts and sullen monstrosities. Leagues of mystery, despair, all swept in the divine gallop of shimmering beauty.

Gauthier pulled through the strain of his shoulders and the stretch of taut tissues racked over heaving ribs. A trance, founded by the oceans of war and failure, sorrow, pleasure; sweat and brine and filth, a pain resolved by the rush of endorphins and the complacence of adrenaline. Claws shlicked their sharpness over sandstone facade, digging ruts, tearing foundation, while the mind gallivanted its winding chambers of memory and the thick sheen of red.

It's eez good... small, disjointed, the scarce words hardly find him present for their engagement, until the creeping sense of company tears him from his practice. Gauthier paused mid-stretch, talons hooked around a particularly stubborn ledge of red rock that had refused to be released. Louve, o prințesă canibală, stumbles over the commontongue with a deftness lacking all but; humor curdled in the pit of his throat.

Her words, though picked and prodded at odd angles, reminded him of once what Charax had impressed. To serve. To serve his pride, or to serve the Dieus? The line was blended, muddied by duty and war, farce and the ill gluttony of comfort. A Devorre serves themself only. All else felt like the dripping ides of sin, a muck that you could not shake out. It stuck to your bones, clotted your throat, dampened your tongue with the bitterness of tar-crud. He knew. The taste rattles its way up again, bile and crude acid.

How much her face reminded him of Kieran, hovered above Aidoneus's pale throat.

He retracted his claws from the rock with a hard, decisive click. "It is my home too, oui?" though the low, draconian embers of his seething voice do not ask for an answer. The flash of his silvery eyes are scythes glinting, dripping sanguine, ever cruelty. It is not a question. Such forwardness is impudence before royalty perhaps, but he did not fear retribution. A grin spread, heretic and heinous, touching those tender places of exposed teeth behind the frayed mottle of scarred flesh. Dropping from the rubble, he turned to face @Louve, the cool seaside breeze smoothing its mist over the length of his spine. He could do with some paltry francois, but he would let her fumble with the commontongue for a while, amusing himself.

"What of your claws?" he prodded, an inkling of a wicked tease plaited in its coldness, the trickle of mania a shine in his eyes.

Art © Ryuu

Louve found herself wondering how long that tree had existed hovering on the edge, a push away from sudden death. How many years had passed with its roots digging deep in to the stony terrain, thriving despite the unforgiving landscape. When its seed had sunk beneath the surface had the lands been different? The sea further away? Had weeks and months and years torn away at the earth, claiming more for the sea?

Her head swung instinctively back towards the pridelands, towards the towering bluffs she called home. Would they, one day, also sink beneath the sea? Would Amaryllis itself be picked away, piece by piece, until it was no more than memory?

It seemed impossible, but as she shifts her gaze back towards the sea she is (as always) struck by its power and its rage. Unassuming yet dreadfully unforgiving; she had seen the might of it when the skies whipped in to a frenzy, and could imagine how a lesser mind might be led to believe that it was a God that boiled the surface.

Louve knew better, of course. The Dieudonne were smarter than to fall victim to such fallacies -- nevermind that they were merely another brand of heretic.

"Est-ce?" Is it? Taunting, rising to the challenge she could glean from the instability of his expression. Poking the proverbial bear, perhaps begging for some form of retribution. Thirsty, starving, half-crazed in her quest for more. Louve did not care that she was being rude and dismissive -- she saw in him the opportunity to dance with the dragon and she snatched it without thought of the consequences.

Lifting a paw from the ground she directed her gaze to her own claws, extended and stretching before her eyes. "tranchante," she mused, with a wicked grin, "very sharp." As if to demonstrate she lowered them again and drug them across the stone, satisfied by the ear-splitting screech they drew from the earth.

Image by Rabs

hail to the king
kneel to the crown

royal flames will carve a path to chaos
bringing daylight to the night
let the water flow with shades of red
arrows black out the light

One end of the butcher grin curls, malicious, wild. "It is." he replies, sparing little time from question to answer, defiant, even, and certain. He had bled for it. He would never be told otherwise. Once, he was loathe to consider a place among a pride, to call anywhere home. But here, where he had slept, ate, wrought too many pieces of himself into its stony ledges and crimson-stained halls, was a home. There was a reckoning to be found in whether it would remain home, always, but for now...

Very sharp. It heels the utterance of an ungodly screech, the sharpness of her claws questioned against the earth, and waited for its validation. He gave a throaty chortle in response, chasing away the echoes that drove shivers whipped down his spine, his clenched jaw. And with the simple toss of his head, an impish noise of half-hearted agreement, he made to where the ocean licked the shore, washing the red dust from his arms. "I suppose they are sharp, yes." he sighed with a sound taunting mediocrity. "They could be sharper."

@Louve

Art © Ryuu

He knows enough of her language to answer her question, but she is not surprised. Gauthier had lived here plenty long enough that she would expect him to know some of the words, if not all of them. Tempted to put it to the test she considers switching to strictly French, but as he sticks with the common tongue she shelves that notion just as quickly.

"Bien," she murmured, pleased by his quick defense of the home he has made. If he had shown any hesitancy she would have been displeased, not that it would have meant anything to him. The heiress sensed that this beast did not seek approval from anywhere but his own self.

He moved towards the sea and she sighed, then followed, stopping just short of the icy water. "Zey are sharp enough to speell blood," quick to defend her weapons as they flex against the ground, "zat ees enough, non?"

Image by Rabs

hail to the king
kneel to the crown

royal flames will carve a path to chaos
bringing daylight to the night
let the water flow with shades of red
arrows black out the light

Bien. Simple enough, it curtails his impudence with a smug appreciation -- he couldn't expect any less, daughter of who she had been. Amara had never disapproved of Gauthier's hedonistic inclinations, brusque measures. It is always a pleasure not to be questioned, challenged, though it wouldn't have made too much of a difference in his words. What is, is.

--sharp enough to spill blood, @Louve says. Is that enough? His grin diminishes slight, though still plaits the curve of his dark lips, his eyes stead on the red dust that washes out to sea, carmine and decadent, carried with the salt on the backs of froth-crested mares. His tongue plucked at the point of a fang as he regarded her from the corner of his eye. "Only if you know how to use them."

Art © Ryuu

Saffron focus follows his to the sea, to the dark of red swallowed by the surf. It is too pale, too thin; nothing like the thick blood she would prefer to feed to the ocean. He speaks again and she curls a lip, of half a mind to prove her skill then and there.

Was it what he wanted, then? "Shall I proove eet?" Curled lip turned to hungry grin, muscles tensed and ready. Louve waits not for a response, lunging forward in to the shallows, using her momentum to lift her front end and seeking to sink aforementioned claws in to the meaty flesh of his hindquarters.

Striking forward with her head she aims, too, to grasp hold of his back with her teeth, acting as though she might drag him down like no more than some helpless prey. A fools errand, a dangerous game, but she is blinded by a need for more.

Image by Rabs

hail to the king
kneel to the crown

royal flames will carve a path to chaos
bringing daylight to the night
let the water flow with shades of red
arrows black out the light

Young, reckless, brash, of chin and tooth comes the bold Shall I prove it? unto the seabreeze, the roar of ocean, the calling of nightfall and dawning of violence, perusal of gratification. Without pause, @Louve charges for his form, and he expects nothing less.

After all, the answer would have been yes.

She is thrust against the damp sands, compact by the slicking waves, wreaks her very sharp claws against the ridge of his hind. He moved to drop his quarters as her teeth clicked over fatty tissue, the mass of scarred furs, a pinch, a puncture. He laughed, though a sliver of pain cannot be denied (her claws are, in fact, rather sharp) - and wracked his right arm to attempt to swat her smaller form aside.

Art © Ryuu

He does not move, and that should have been her first indication that she had made a mistake. Gauthier all but takes the attack with only a drop of his rump, lessening her grip but not avoiding it at all. Her teeth puncture but do not tear, and she is too focused on her own attack to avoid his retaliation.

A swing of his arm is all it takes to knock her back, though she seeks to drag her claws through flesh as she falls back to the ground. Her front end lands with a heavy thump, her balance lost in the press of wave against legs. Louve stumbles and feels the burn of shame rise fast to her cheeks, ignoring the potential bruising from his strike and scrambling to press her luck.

Forward, again, with bared teeth aiming for any part of his body that she can find, almost desperate to fill her mouth with his blood.

Image by Rabs