Now.

Only a few days after the raid, Lachesis returned to Vermeda Brook, not keen on allowing them to lick their wounds or give them time to heal.

Some would say it was a cowardly thing, waiting until your enemy was already weakened before attacking, but to them, Lachesis would only call them foolish. It was the mark of great genius to bide your time and strike when the moment was right.

And he was, after all, a genius. There would never be another mind as gifted as his. He had the power of vision, of prophecy, and now, he would write his own story. He would spite fate and show her that she was no longer his master, that the visions she taunted him with meant nothing.

And the moment to do so was now.

He had spent years training for the day he would be able to make his name something great, building himself back up to the level he had once been at before the venom of a serpent stole it from him. It had taken weeks of hardwork and dedication, subjecting his body to wound and damage until he was once again great.

He had come from his fall in grace to turn triumphant. He had come back stronger, faster, and better. He had come back so much more than he had been before. His home may have abandoned him, mocked him, derided him but the lands of Amaryllis were different. Here, he could be anything in this land full of opportunity, ripe for the taking.

And none were as ripe for the taking as Vermeda Brook.

Originally, he had no qualms with them, anymore than he did with any other pride, yet when he approached Aeistrios and promised his tooth and nail to his cause, that all changed. He had shed Vermeda blood and now, there was no going back. He had created many enemies in doing so, though he relished in the idea that so many would know his name and loathed it.

It was better to be feared and hated than to be loved, he was certain. Fear and hatred made his enemies paranoid. Fear and hatred made his enemies tell stories to their children about his many crimes. How the idea pleased him. He would go from a nameless, faceless no one, to a legend. The Peitho name would once again mean something. It would be respected and it would be feared. No, even better—

He would take hold of the reins of fate and become a god.

Boldly, he approached the Brook’s border and roared out a demanding summons for their ruler. Today, he would shed more Vermeda blood and ascend to godhood. There would be no dissuading him, no stopping him, no thing that could convince him to turn back.

He came to the Brook a noble, but he intends to leave as godking.

If only @Aidoneus could see him now.

Come and face your reckoning!

@Lachesis vs. @Aquila
For Vermeda Brook
0 / 5

((Aeist is badly wounded currently - but also an easy target, I understand he has a bunch of enemies, so I don't mind a fight - but please minor maims preferred for now!))

It had only been a few days since the raid, and things were still the definition of a mess.

Aeistrios was gravely wounded and moving slower, and perhaps that was why he was so far behind @Lachesis as his Noble embarked to the Brook lands once more. Things were hard, pain flared with each shift or twitch of his muscles, and one limb in particular wasn't helping him at all. It was really starting to piss him off. However, there was no time for a healer - not yet. Soon, very soon, but this was far more important.

Along with him, was @Eisa . He’d allowed her to come with him, only with the mind to hurt her further emotionally. To show her the devastation she kept bringing to her home. That everything was because of her.

The demanding roar resounded through the land, and Aeistrios arrived to see Lachesis upon the Brook borders, standing tall despite his own wounds. He stood fearless, a certain blood lust overhanging his crown as the Saxe observed him. So bold, and his black pelt became far more interesting the longer he gazed at this man. This warrior who did not relent - a pridemate who had proved their loyalty to him, a beast taking control of his reins.

Something within Aeistrios sparked to life, and the yearning sensation to touch such a rarity engulfed him. A strong attraction rooted within his gut as he stared to Lachesis, lust tinging the edges of his gaze, such a foreign sensation when gazing at the same gender.

However, he did not push the feeling away.

Shifting himself a bit closer, he remains on the borders - borders that he and his pride had damaged so recently. “Watch what he does, my Noble. Watch him destroy the last bit of the home you knew.” He whispers to Eisa, his breath low enough to make it only for her ears. “I told you this was going to happen.” He adds to his whisper, his words only for her. He had warned her, told her she was at fault, all for crossing him. All for being her. Now, she was his. It brings a smirk to him, even in his wounded state, and as he sits upon the ground to watch, he allows his gaze to flick back to Lachesis and finds himself openly ogling him from the sidelines.

It was time to see Vermeda fall, and at the paws of one of his own. This would be their end, he was certain of it.

art by riot/coding by riot

--- attempting to hide

+10 Remain undetected in a large thread (5+ characters)
+5 Study the landscape of an area
+5 Gather useful information on a enemy lion or pride

---

Weimar was going to behave this time. Honest. He'd been trying to behave during the raid too. Not his fault someone went looking for the cache at the same time he'd been stuffing his face. And everything that had escalated from there... also not his fault. Still, he'd been spending time away from the den when he could manage it, making the excuse that he wanted to tidy the cache so no enemy would find it again. Actually he thought he'd seen a few feathers at the bottom that were unbroken and had a rare, black iridescent sheen, and thought maybe they could be a makeup gift for his parents. He was taking his time sorting, though. This organization thing wasn't his shtick.

As though drama always had to happen while he was digging through the larder, another roar burst the silence and left a greater silence behind it. The birds trembled and the buzzards fell still. Weimar snarled silently, a pulled fear-grimace. He didn't want to go back home just to be told to stay there. He needed to see what was happening. Quietly. Secretly. Avoiding catching the eye of anyone. Especially his parents.

He usually didn't walk along the borders. No point. That was where the land became less rich and smelled more like strangers. He lowered his body and slowed, his head on a swivel. He saw a large, barren tree with a massive trunk, one of the few that existed on the outskirts and which he recognized as a border mark. Slowly weaving through the damp spring grass, he sought its shade and a place among the moss between its roots. It smelled... different. Less lions marking it. More chaos. He resisted the urge to scratch it up. He peeped just his head over a root shelf and watched.

One male, white blotched, seemed ready for a game. Or a fight. A game of... serious fighting. Because fighting wasn't fun, so why did this male seem so ready for it? There was another male, color and posture like a giant dropped plum, further along the borders. He also seemed to be watching with a great amount of interest, as though waiting for blotchy guy to do something cool. It must be really important to be here in his condition. He looked hurt all over. Maybe it was paint though? Hopefully. Blood was Not Cool. It was probably paint. Yeah. He seemed confident to be here. Probably painted up for whatever show. The scary show that he bet he wasn't supposed to be watching. Unscheduled Takeover Theater.

Relegated to prisoner status, cracked her soul. Something in her was fractured and broken, but she was doing her best to remain defiant of that fact. Eisa ached, with every breath she took- and exhaustion and a weariness that had nothing to do with her injuries and lack of sleep plagued her. The former Heiress, now wore proverbial shackles that bound her paws and her soul from answering the summons of the caller at the Brook.

Hadn't they suffered enough?!

@Aeistrios's allowance of her to go to the challenge, was not a gift, she was not foolish enough to believe it to be. She followed him, as he if pulled a leash and drug her along, her paws scrapping against the earth. She did not want to see her home like this, like this broken shell of an heiress. The one who could not defend them.

When she arrives, she notes that Aquila is not there. He has not shown, and she prays that her uncle will somehow... appear. That he'll win, and know she's prisoner- that someone will come for her. That she will one day escape the Plains, and the hell she lived in. Hopeful eyes look around to see if she sees her sister- her mother, her father, her brothers?

Anyone. Anyone. Someone see me.

Too injured to fight a fight, that she knows she cannot win.

She slumps back onto her hips, to study the male who so brazenly challenges for her home- remembering his fur, the smell of him, the way he stands there. Remembering him, because this was not a transgression she would ever forgive. She felt her claws dig into the earth, her breath a sharp shudder, as she studied him, and then the plum bastard alongside her, as he whispers to her. His voice raking down her spine like claws, and she nearly gags at the sound of it.

"You will pay for this- you both will." She says flatly, looking away from him now, in absolutely disrespect and shifting away as much as she could, while she remained sitting there, bile rising in her home- as she wondered if this is the end of the Brook? Would anyone save their home from these monsters?

code by corvus

(You don't have to engage with him if you don't want to. I won't be posting here again with him until after I get back from absence.) Well, this was interesting. It had only been a few days since the Raid and now a call arose to challenge for the Brook Pride. Flicking his ears, he had actually stayed in the area in the Grove with his mother as she helped heal his wounds from the fight against Alizabeth and the little minion. Even though Novalie was the Cove's Lead Medic, he let the mute lioness work on his worst injuries before she left to return home. Keela had found him and took over her duties as a Mother and a Medicine Woman. Flicking his ears as he got closer to the Brook's territory but stayed on the OUTSIDE of the borders. Already, a few had arrived, including @Aeistrios and the lioness he had stolen during the Raid. @Eisa he remembered from seeing her at the Passage, recruiting for new members. Flicking his ears back, he felt back for the crimson girl but it wasn't his drama. Nor could he really afford any negative hits towards his own pride for pissing off the Plains leadership. Shifting to sit down, he waited to see if the leader would show or if anyone would contest to the challenge. (DOUBLE EXP ACTIVE FOR EVERYONE)

(Not posting again until after my absence so feel free to skip around me )

Raizel had been cooped up in her den after the fight to keep her wife safe, healing from her injuries. Her wounds scabbed over and her heart heavy. Now came a call for her home. Hadn't they suffered enough?! Sighing, the pink lioness made her way down to where the challenger was and narrowed her eyelids at the others who came before eyeing @Eisa with a sad look on her face. The large male who had stolen her away during the Raid kept the crimson lioness close to him. How badly she wanted to give comfort to the former Heiress, to her friend. But she didn't dare seek the wrath of the Plains King. Flicking her ears back, she sighed before sitting down, saying nothing yet wanting to say everything. This was the end.

@Aeistrios

SUBMASTER: AMBASSADOR
(double exp from Raizel)
+10 - Observe a challenge and learn the results (Lachesis vs Aquila for VB) 1/2

(ACTIVELY HIDING)

She had fallen unconscious. Nearly all of her ribs cracked and a punctured lung from the weight of Roarke crushing her. Fever had set in and the delusion and confusion was there. Her bite wounds from Viper were festering and not healing. Orange gaze was still fuzzy and the Lead Scout had kept herself hidden on the outskirts of the Brook after the battle to heal. She was so weak. When she woke up, she had been left alone, to fester and die. Covering herself up in toxic plants and mud to mask her scent with sloth speed, she went to where a call was heard for the challenge of the Brook. Only days had passed since the Raid and already, someone wanted to take the whole Brook as theirs. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Flicking her ears back, she semi-recognized the male from the Plains. It was interesting that a Plains lion would challenge for the Brook and wondered if it was planned before to officially deduct the enemies as a whole. Aeistrios was also there but she didn't approach the Plains King. Instead, she hid in the brush of the outskirts to watch and see what unfolded. To suffer.


MASTER: SLEUTH
+10 - Practice hiding your scent (toxic plants and mud) 1/2 (double from Keligan)

(potential)
+20 - Remain undetected in a large thread (Reins of Fate - VB Challenge) 1/2 (double from Keligan)
+20 Learn something about pride/group/family relations (VB/LP) 1/2 (double from Keligan)

coded by flea + background credit

A challenger to the Brook is something that Helah wouldn't dream of missing. She meanders towards the territory, curious of it's fate- and upon arriving, notes a familiar smell in the air. Casually, she glances towards the Plains leader, and she smiled towards him coyly, before taking a seat a few paces away, just on the border as she waited to see who would answer the challenge- and just to whom the Brook would fall. It would be potentially useful information for later, and of course information that her dear pretty Revna would want to know. If the Brook fell today, perhaps she'd accept her role in Helah's life a little easier.

Pride Status Vague. Helah is observing.

ART BY YUMPY, CODE BY LARS

~Hubert is attempting to remain hidden~ Well, well, well. So, yet another has boldly come forth to try to topple one of the Mire's oldest rivals from the pretty little glade from which they'd been ensconced for as long as he could remember. Would this unknown challenger manage to fare better than the last? Only time would tell, and Hubert, for one, is eager to see the results. It should be no mystery which outcome the Mire Prince hopes for. And yet...nothing can ever be truly simple, can it? Though he is quick to brush it aside, a traitorous thread of concern lurks in his heart when he sneaks his way up to the borders only to be met immediately with the evidence of recent destruction. Trampled foliage and blood-stained grass, the scent of Lorien prevalent enough beneath the fresh trails that've invaded the Brook today. It seems it's the Plains lions who seek to eradicate everything Vermeda stands for. From where Hubert lurks in the shadows, he can see the dark form of their King standing in support of the challenger. Outwardly, Hubert has to bite down on a scoff, his head shaking at the absurdity of it all - that the Brook had actually dared to declare war against his own pride and kin when they could barely even defend themselves from this. Internally, he cannot help the way his eyes skip around the area, in search of even just a single glimpse of her.

ART By Moogle

So it has come to this?

He had known it, deep down within the very fabric of his existence, that his first weeks within the Brook had been too easy. Too comfortable. Too happy, when one considered the twists of fate that had always hounded after those of Peitho blood. Their indulgences have never been left unpunished. When the threads of their tapestry unravel, it must fall apart all at once.

The other shoe has finally dropped.

It is a travesty in it of itself, that Cerberus had been absent the night the Brook had been attacked. Distracted, by the meeting he'd sought with the Mire King. Such ill timing could only have been forced by the will of fate. The countless possibilities of what might have happened to @Ygritte in the midst of that bloodshed are enough to chill his blood to ice, even only in thought. Especially considering...

Considering...

The threat of Lorien dangles above his head by a thread, a sword sharper than any claws could hope to be. It takes far less time than even Cerberus expects for that thread to snap.

And who would be the shadow to dare to cut it, if not his own brother?

Martyr though he may present himself to be, Cerberus had never been the only servant of Hades. He had not even been the one who was most favored, even at the heights of his devotion. The gift of prophecy has skipped him over. Has he ever begrudged that unfortunate truth as much as he does in this moment? The hellhound does not remember. He can only seethe beneath the cold, unimpressed mask he's donned upon his features, lavender eyes seeking to capture @Lachesis's gaze when the wraith emerged from the shadows. On the opposite side of the border that the prophet sought to claim.

"αδερφός." He greets in the low baritones of their shared tongue, too devoid of emotion to be natural, embodying the surface of a still lake that hides countless complexities within its depths. "Τι θα κερδίσετε, αν επιδοθείτε σε τέτοια ασήμαντα, θνητά παιχνίδια?" Such violent ambitions. How could the hound not see the presence of Hades' endless vices within his brother's call?

But even so, he must wonder.

"Είναι το θέλημα του Άδη που σας καλεί? Ή είναι δικό σας?" It is harder still, not to see it as a remnant of the curse that dogs the wraith's shadowed steps.

---

1. Brother
2. What shall you gain, by indulging in such petty, mortal games?
3. Is it Hades's will that calls you forth? Or is it your own?

ART BY SCARF, CODE BY LARS