Claim for Caladan Cove!

@Gauthier vs. @Seraphiel

Claimants have 72 hours to respond to this thread.
Any posts prior to the claimants will be deleted!
The participants for this claim were chosen using our pride claim lottery system and were randomly selected.

He hadn't anticipated coming to the Cove and finding it empty. Not that he'd really been looking for the pride that was supposed to be there either. He'd wondered how they had fared after hearing the chaos that had come from the sea in this direction, and now he knew.

Well...

Seraphiel roamed the now empty borders, thinking to himself. It would have been infinitely easier to go to the Brook like he'd been planning on doing, or waiting to see where Drakon and Hecuba decided to go, as he was ever loyal to them. But, he had a daughter to think about, and here was an opportunity, and a place he had lived before.

He decided, finally, opting for a spot on the beach with plenty of room, and let a call echo from his jaws that never had before. A call of claiming, of seeing who would dare to come face him (for he knew another would), of wanting a home.

Seraphiel vs. @Gauthier
for Caladan Cove
Round 0 / 5
Hits: [roll=#d20]
Dodges: [roll=#d20]
Luck: [roll=#d20]

midnight mass
a crimson pool so warm and deep
lulls me to an endless sleep

The tremors could be felt from the edges of the Fields, the crumbling of the cove and the wash of the ocean seen from desolate heights. What brutality befell them spelt bounty for another - and certain enough, in the days that were to come, the sea had washed out all of what had been left of the pride.

Gauthier was second to test the bounds of curiosity on that wreckage that remained. Tossed, defiled, that civilization left in the lap of fortune had overturned in the passing nights. Now, the ocean lapped pleasantly at the shore, the breeze danced the stalwart green and those rivulets of silt were pulled in the riptide. Like a glimmering jewel left in the sand, Caladan laid before him like an offering.

He drew a breath deep and solemn, observing the wreckage, the newly opened caverns, the ruination of those that existed before. It was no deep mountain forest, no verdant oasis proffered up with its golden bones and teeming waterfalls.

This was a hecatomb built on the blood spilt, sweat shed. For him.

Whispers rode the eastern breeze. For him.

But what was sacrifice without its labor?

Before a warcry could rip from the cradle of his jaws, another called from the south. Gauthier turned, gathered himself with the oncoming route of adrenaline and pleasure, and tore into the cedar wilds to find this day's nemesis. It was proper, it was perfect, as a victory is never owed to one that has not offered something in return. This place must be lustrated, sanctified by blood. So it would.

The opponent was inconsequential, impersonal. There was no familiarity, no personal ties that bid him to any particular brand of hostility. It is, however, in his nature to be ruthless, and so there is no grand entrance of civilized sweeping and genteel introductions. There is only flesh, hunger, teeth, and the thrust of hearts that would pound the drum of their voracious appetites.

----

Gauthier bounded the distance between them down the stretch of seaweed-stained beach and its flotsam valleys, favoring those boundaries where sand was hardened by the constant wash of sea. The haze of light, chilled rain assured most of the beach would stay solid, mostly free from the awful sensation of drowning in shifting sands. Much of it crumbled underfoot regardless, reclaimed by the rush of a following wave.

He charged toward his opponent with all the wrath of a man with nothing to lose, but plenty to gain. Savage, unsparing, he made with the ruse of bulling headfirst into Seraphiel with all the nuance of brute force, but attempted a last-minute feint to zag his route perpendicular toward the lion's left. He would try to reach a weighted, clawful right-pawed grip on Seraphiel's hind end, seeking to bury his jaws into the tough meat of the colossal man's hind leg muscles.

Gauthier vs @Seraphiel
for Caladan Cove
Round 1 / 5
Hits:

Rolling 8d20: 8 + 17 + 9 + 11 + 2 + 14 + 6 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 16 + 15 + 14 + 12

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 10 + 8 + 6 + 17

_{BG — ART — CODE}

+5 Attend to a challenge

A pride had fallen, one she had not been at before. And even though it could be sad to see lions lose their homes like this, it was part of life. Part of what meant to be an inhabitant of Amaryllis. It wasn't like she would like to see it happen in her own home, but it wasn't any reason for her not to be targeted. It was once. And in said manner she wanted to see, to find out who will now lead this pride now. She crosses the borders, no fear as it was left empty. It didn't belong to no one for the tile being right? Calmly she took a seat to watch the challenge.

CODE•ART•BG

Solanum had been safely tucked away and told to stay put, and the young six month old cub have a, "yes father, and a wave as her father departed, she didn't really know what he was doing. Being a toddler made it harder to grasp certain things, all she knew was some butthead stole their home and her daddy had whisked her away to safety. She grumbled a few times about that mean old stinky butt head some more, time passed and the toddler got bored, and lonely, she caught her father's scent and heard his call so she decided she would find him herself. The little cub bounded across the terrain, following the scent of her father, she was a little bit bigger than she had been when he found her, and she was faster with a whole lot of energy, so getting tired wasn't that big of an issue.

Finally the chimera cub made it, only to watch in horror as another battle ran at her father, and attempted to wrap his jaws around his hind leg, she was too stunned to yell, having never actually seeing a fight before. The tiny cub shook and flattened her ears, standing in a fearful, shaking stance.

the sea does not like to be restrained The call that echoes across the land is unsettling, if only because it is the very home that she lost a year ago when Ulla was defeated. For some time now, there has been an itch at the back of her mind that perhaps she could solve some of her problems by coming back here, taking back the crown, and giving her wife the memories they had made here. Now, it seemed, that would all come crashing down. By the time she arrives on the sands of the Cove to witness the event, two lions are already clashing together in battle; she is too late to try to answer the challenge herself and her heart sinks in dismay. It seems that she will lose this home for even longer than she has planned. Only a couple of other lions have gathered thus far, and it only takes her a few moments to notice the cub, her ears pinned against her skull, clearly upset by what she was witnessing. Not entirely certain who the cub might belong to, she approaches the child a little warily, thinking of the little ones she has tucked away back in the Brook. "Little one," she croons at @Solanum. "If you want to watch, stand with me and I will keep you safe."

code // art // do not use without permission

More political unrest though this one less instigated than the last.

Fallon looms near, interested to see who battled for the right to take over from a deserted pride lands. The scent in the Cove is stale -- abandoned. And engaged in battle are two males, both unfamiliar to the Lorien Noble who seats herself nearby though not within range of any that were already gathered. She wonders if there will be some stability to come with the new ruler and what this all meant for the Plains. Within there is worry -- where was her daughter? Violarum had stepped down so that he may look for her with her but to no avail. She would resume her search soon after this fight would draw to a close.

IMAGE COPYRIGHT NESLA

+5 Learn something interesting about a pride or family (0/2) +10 Learn a pride or family’s history (0/2) +5 Attend a challenge (1/2) We can call it mere coincidence or simple greed that our favorite little vampire had stumbled upon the cove that day. The fading scents had promised a quiet beach day, complete with sandcastle building and kicking shells into the water for sport. But what Eric happened upon was far less peaceful, and far less pleasant. And while he was certainly miffed that these rowdy locals had spoiled his beach day, he was pulled in by the promise of that sweet scarlet. Eric’s nostrils flared; the air would soon be heavy with it, the sand impregnated with its color. All he had to do…was wait. Now, if you knew him, you’d know that patience was a virtue but not Eric Björklund’s strong suit. Therefore, he was quite shifty as he took a seat beside a tiny wheat female, his body straining with the hunger. We’re in dangerous waters now. “Hey,” Eric bobbed his chin at her, “what’s the big deal? Is there a whale carcass somewhere?” Or perhaps a Black Friday sale? 50% off sandboxes? @Caillen But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of blood, self-harm, death

This place had once been her home–when the first few steps of her journey had led her to the passage and Sahir had been willing to bring her to the Cove–when Ash had been at her lowest. Wherein she had been so disconnected, so far from her people and traditions by choice. The wayward prodigal daughter, with newfound purpose. No one could have anticipated the waves, the storm, pushing out everything she had tried to regain after such long an absence. And though the witch understands with great knowing that the leaders of the world rise and fall just as the tides, there is something of a spark in her. An angry or perhaps disappointment that is a low simmer. Once might assume she’d curse at the gods, or even the two who sought to fight over the vacant beach. But instead, she pulls herself up to a rather comfortable rocky outcrop to observe, pushing her personal feelings aside.

A singular claw protrudes from earthy toned paws, scraping against the padded innards of her free one. It's deep enough to cause a wince and a slight intake of breath in a hiss, however, the wound is not of great consequence. She presses against the dark stone with her bleeding paw, slowly drawing her own runes into existence: jagged and unusual, haunting even. Blessing on whoever is the victor and a curse for the loser–

”May the blood spilled here today appease thee–bring forth a victor worthy of your cause, baptize him in blood and fear. May the earth weep in each step, may the ground tremble and his enemies seize in freight!”

She yells to the skies and to the fight below, finishing her half crescent of runes. The wounded paw then brushes over her forehead in similar fashion and down her chin.

“Blessed is the victor, and may the weak feed the earth in his dying breath–All Mother, drink from his corpse!”

The adrenalin is addictive, and the emotions from before only stoke the fires that linger behind blue eyes. Ashtoret is angry, but she does the bid of her goddess--the blessing for the victor and curse for the fallen. As was tradition, as was always tradition. The spite that rose from squabbles of kings was enough to bring empires to their knees. In the sands of her homeland, this had been true--for centuries wars raged, turning the golden dunes rust in color. But blood was a gift, and so the Void Mother would drink heftily as she did after every death, every fight, every maim. It only stung now, because this had been home for the first time since cubhood. But Ash did not waver, her prayers continued in soft mutterings as whispers. She would not bend to her own will, no.

code by corvus

ooc:
+10 Cast a curse or blessing on a character/group

What joy, what happiness!

Marja hops and skips all the way towards the battle cries that draw her forwards into what smells like it was once a prides territory. It also smells strongly of water- as if waves have angrily washed against it. She bounces and hops, all the way until she sees two lions fighting and that is when her bouncing and hops cease. Her eyes widen and she cheers immediately. "pust silnye vozobladayut!" She cheers! "pust silnye vozobladayut!"

She hops in place as she watches them battle it out, watching the fight excitedly, as she waits to see who Gromm will deem worthy, though she doesn't really understand what they fight for. If nothing else, she calls for his blessing over these strangers. Blessing to bring the strongest forth.

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY LARS