they are surrounded. @Léonie appearing with her sharp tongue, crass but speaking truth that has him nodding unconsciously. there was nothing to fear from the bastard -- alaric would see to it. whatever feud was born was not stoppable, not any longer, and whether tinuviel came or stayed would bear no difference on the outcome.

a child of the oasis has him tensing, half-ready to strike down even a cub if it means getting his wife to safety, but even this boy of aeistrios tells her to go.

they plead with her and she pulls away, and he does not think but to follow. to chase her down, attempting again to hook her leg and pull her after him. "we have allies, tin, and he has a thousand enemies. there are as many of us as there are of him, and if you stay it will change nothing. we will not stop until every last one of them is struck down for what they have done. to you, to mel. do you know what he did to her?" a dangerous growl rumbles in his chest at the thought of their small daughter, along with a fierce and deadly need to ensure it never happened again. "there is nothing you can do to stop it." maybe he is cruel for saying so, but he needed her to understand that staying was doing nothing but making herself a martyr.

and then her words freeze him in his place, his paw thudding back to the ground, temporarily stunned. they're not yours. she says it so easily, so simply, as if it was a small thing. they're alexanders.

there is a fleeting second where he thinks his heart has stopped. then it beats, hard and sluggish, and pain slices deep in to his chest. they're children were not even a year and these... were somebody else's? a man who had long ago declared him an enemy? in this time when they were supposed to be most happy and she tending to their budding family -- she had been with him.

alaric stumbles, the pain a physical blow, fighting a heavy burden of jumbled emotions. betrayal and grief, anger and rage; a thousand things he can make no sense of. he wants to lash out at her, strike her down, scream at her. he wants to whisk her away, tuck her in to their den, promise her the world. alaric starke recognizes the whip for the first time and does not shy from its lash, feels the blood run over his ribs and embraces it instead.

there is no certainty in what he would have done, but then @magdelena is there spilling her own pain and anger on to the desert sands. they are knives of their own to lodge in his heart, a distant sense of failure despite his greatest efforts, but they are enough to give clarity to the moment. he shoves forward, abruptly, attempting to place himself between her and the oasis. he looks to come around behind her (hoping her focus is elsewhere, on the many that have come to wrench her from the monster's grasp) and press close enough to block her escape, to shove up against her rump and push her towards the mire. "we need you."

a pause, a wavering uncertainty, and then: "they need you."


alaric & @Wither vs. @Tinúviel
for Tinúviel's freedom
2/3

Hits:

Rolling 8d20: 19 + 7 + 20 + 2 + 8 + 10 + 13 + 5

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 17 + 4 + 19

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 1 + 16 + 9 + 12

ooc. sorry for going out of order, fight post and all.

luther is back. the words rock her back, still her protests. he almost killed your son. fuck, she breathes - but the word is scarcely uttered. it feels heavy on her tongue and the world tilts to one side. her paws grip the sand beneath them. ears laying flat and eyes slipping shut. it's not so much fear that resonates in her at the resurfacing trauma; it is everything she felt in those weeks. every ounce of weakness and every ounce of hate that kept her surviving when she thought she'd give up. and then tinúviel had come and whisked her away - and then had gone back, @Alaric at her side, to banish the boy.

this was- this was all her fault.
it all started with luther.
she's ruined this family.

it's only when that green and brown gaze shifts to her, the tears in them shining silver, that the assassin manages to breathe past the tidal wave that threatens to crest over her head. i can't. she says, voice low. she's parroting tinúviel's words back to her but she can't leave her here. with him. with them.

it's hard to watch, the once-queen and her king staring at one another like that. it feels invasive - and she glances away, swallowing against the lump in her throat. their words, all of them, are swirling around her and wither stumbles a step away, leaving the space for the small healer to lurch away from the mire king. she can't do this. her eyes lift, finally, finding the starke man's through the storm and bares her fangs. release me. she demands of him, her ears folding back to her head. i'll stay with her. because there's no stopping her, no changing her mind. not now. she can see the resolve, even if she's wrong, in her gaze and her body and every line of her anguished, desperate face.

but they don't get any further in the argument; a child, not even a year, trips through the storm to be deposited at her father's side. @Magdalena's speech is impassioned and wither finds herself caught between two impossible choices: betray tinúviel's trust and drag her, kicking and scream, home or leave her here. but she can't, she can't, save take her when the fairchild woman is demanding to remain. she can't be like the rest of them, ignoring what she says, wants, needs and doing whatever they think is right.

wither needs to listen to tinúviel. and so she does.

she relents, stepping further from alaric to align herself with the exhausted, tattered woman. she shifts to press close, curving her body against her, and lifting a paw to hold out against alaric as he surges closer, trying to touch her once more. no- she says, brows tightening. enough; enough! she is a fool. an easily manipulated fool. but she - they, all women - have spent so long being ignored, meeting every demand made of them. of having to turn every no into yes to ease the hurt feelings and souls of others.

it was time, wither decides, to follow through.

she said no. and even as her jaw clicks with the tension singing through it, she lifts herself up to square off against the mire king. how many times has she stood like this? there's so many memories pressing on the back of her mind. endless days and jobs taken with the little divine, with rot and bloom at her side and then, standing against bloom while their third died screaming.

i hate this, she assures her man, though her tone is steely. but she made her decision. and her eyes rove to magdalena, then, assessing the angry, bitter youth. you all need to... abide. and she knows nothing she's going to say is going to change their minds, but gods they need to. she can see the sense in what tinúviel is saying, even if she's loathe to admit it. and if luther is here... if luther was back, he would be out for both of their blood.

she would have to be oh-so careful. and play the game of this oasis king; use him to her advantage until she could take them both down.

her eyes slip close and her nostrils flare as she sucks in a deep, ragged breath. the cold burns her lungs as she holds it for three counts, centering herself. you're too young to understand it all, and she knows magdalena will hate her for this, for the words, for the assumption. but there are better ways to fight men. they were easier to manipulate than they were to kill with fang and claw - and she hopes that the girl will learn this sooner rather than later.

wither's attention shifts to @Reistrios, head dipping slightly with her eyes intent on his face. you'll take me prisoner. she tells him simply, gaze dancing between them all. and you'll make sure your father knows.... that she fought us. she'll say nothing else - not divulge her plans to any of them. because if the boy knows, his father will; if alaric knows, his children may; and if tinúviel knows? her fear will stop her. her knowing will make her less believable. the woman is commendable but she's not actress, or at least wither thinks.

but she? she's lied a thousand times over.
this would be nothing.
she's done so much worse.

go. she tells them, a lip peeling back as she prepares herself to fight them, now, if she must, to protect tinúviel and her decision.

wither is forfeiting

_CODE

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of SEXUAL COERCION/VIOLENCE AND RAPE, POTENTIAL PREGNANCY STEMMING FROM MENTIONED VIOLENCE

The Miroslav imp expected her truth to provoke someone, and it did. A lioness with a splotchy face snapped on her, which earned her an unimpressed look. “Well, SOMEONE needs to say the ugly part,” she answered flatly. “You want to spare her but she needs to fuckin’ hear it.” She understood that neither rescuer wanted to cause Tinúviel more pain than she’d already endured — really, she did. However, it needed to be stated: by staying, Tinúviel was only going to bring her family more harm. She was saving no one.

@Tinúviel insisted that her children would be safe, which earned her an annoyed groan. A new arrival — @Reistrios — made her narrow her eyes in warning, and even though he urged the lioness to flee, she remained guarded. @Alaric tried to reason with his wife then and Léonie nodded. “A pair of assholes and their twelve monkeys, or … hold on, the Mire with forty lions … the Summit with fifty … the Plains with another twenty … So, maybe fifteen enemies versus what, more than a hundred?” she hummed as if thinking aloud, her voice conveniently carrying for Tinúviel to catch. “Maybe my numbers ain’t adding up. Does someone want to check it for me?” Léonie asked, her brow cocking when she looked at @Wither again, wondering if the lioness realized yet how dense her friend was.

And to prove her point, Tinúviel decided that it was the perfect moment to reveal to Alaric that the children were not his. Nope, they belonged to Alexander. Léonie looked back in surprise, her gaze quickly snapping from Tinúviel to Alaric. Maybe, she realized, that Tinúviel hoped to drive Alaric away. Rarely did the dark imp ever bite her tongue — yet she did then, and to spare Alaric out of everyone. Her uncomfortable expression said what she did not: wow, what a dick move.

However, one voice would not be silenced: @Magdalena. Again, Léonie looked, her spotted ears cupping as their child pleaded with Tinúviel to come home. However, those ears quickly turned around when she realized what it had come to: a daughter begging for a mother that did not deserve her. Sharply, her gaze snapped to Wither again as she tried telling the child she was too young to understand. “She understands her mother is CHOOSING to leave her,” she growled, the pain from her own abandonment darkening her tone. Behind her, that white tuft jerked sharply, revealing her sudden irritation.

“They’re going to rape her again,” she cautioned then, her focus on Wither. “They’re going to make her carry their little heathens, and teach those children to hate the ones fathered by Alaric and … Alexander. Her entire family will be at war.” Her gaze passed over to Tinúviel, daring her to deny Magdalena. “Which is exactly what he wants. He’s using her to break her own family.” A spare glance was aimed in Magdlena’s direction. “And it looks like it’s already working.” Léonie hoped Tinúviel understood that. She hoped she understood the price of being a self-imposed martyr.

She seriously doubted it though.

“Sorry, Alaric,” the Miroslav lioness muttered as she turned away. She was done wasting her breath on his coward of a wife.

Exit

artwork • coding

February Y11 | 5 y/o | Andal Oasis Gentry | in Andal Oasis | @Alaric @Wither @Tinúviel @Reistrios @Magdalena

---

Chaos.

The storm was strong, but that did not deter Azula from watching over the Oasis. Her king and her queen were gone, and so she had chosen to stay. Despite the cursed snow, Azula would sit and keep an eye on her home.

It seemed it was a good choice that she had chosen to stay.

She could hear voices upon the wind, her dark ears listening closely. Her sapphire gaze would narrow, and she finally decided it was time to move and see what was unfolding because the voices were unfamiliar.

Her ears twitched as she heard the last bits of everything, noticing the prisoner to be out and moving. It surprised her, considering how pregnant and weak she looked.

One of the royal children was there as well, and Azula made it a point to stand right beside him. She glanced over at the dark lioness with pale splotches. Then Azula's gaze shifted to the pale man with dark hair. "Even though she is pregnant and sickly, you still want to take her away in this storm?" she merely asked. Azula was no medic, but to her, it didn't seem ideal. It sounded like quite a bit of stress, if anything.

Azula then looked at the woman, "If you wish to join her, I can make sure of that," she said plainly. Her voice was cold, her face neutral. She was only doing her job, and she didn't want to disappoint the king and queen. She wondered what they would do if Azula had allowed all this to happen while they were away.

---

@Azula vs. ???
For @Wither
Round 0 / 3

art by drifty | code by scorpixia♡︎

There was a part of him that feared he would be targeted, attacked as he was an enemy to all those who gathered in efforts to free the woman. She was relentless in her stance, though, and Reistrios could only listen with folded ears at her arguments. Hearing she was pregnant, and not with Alaric nor his father's cubs, but rather an Alexander... well, it was all information he was tucking away.

Family did come first, anyways. Even in the wrong.

When @Tinúviel speaks to him then, Reistrios nods slowly. {"She is our Saxe Queen."} He responds back, the understanding given that even if Aeistrios fell, Renfri would continue on the Saxe as usual. The thought his father might be dying and he was here, idly standing amongst enemies on their lands, made him feel as if he was being dishonest with his family.

More came to plead to the woman, and Reistrios listened. He also listened to Alaric, to all of them on how they had the numbers against his family. Reistrios gulps at the realization this war would never be over. "You and your allies will have to murder us all - newborns included. This, what is happening here," He motions a paw between them all with a grim feature. "It won't end until one of our families is gone for good." It was a saddened tone, but his words took a shift when @Wither voiced her plan. He frowns even.

"I will have to let my father know you joined willingly, know you are a potential threat... and what happened here." He informs, maybe it was childish of him to confess it too. @Azula arrives and he is partly relieved he doesn't hold the burden of being the only other Andal here on their side. A gulp at her words, and he sticks by her side with a weary glance as things commence more.

@Azula VS. TBD FOR @Wither
— FIGHT TIMERS PAUSED —

This fight and its timers are currently paused pending a staff discussion and review. All other posting can continue to happen in this thread without issue.

Another post will be made to signal the unpausing of the fight timers, at which time the fight can continue.

She is taken aback by a sudden little voice, one she'd never anticipated she'd ever get to hear again. Tinúviel's gaze turned toward @Magdalena as she approached, a choked sob lingering within her throat, whatever resignation she had to being prisoner here falling away. She were half-ready to step away with her husband now, to listen to sense and return home to a family that were more than willing to protect her. But so too did she remember the anguish and agony that unfurled around Luther's banishment, remembered the paranoia of looking over her shoulder, or fretting over Wither and fearing the worst when she disappeared. Luther were just one man, capable of instilling such a fervent fear and blight within her; what would that spell for Aeistrios, who had wives and soldiers and children blossoming steadily into adulthood, angered and unrelenting?

We need a mother, not a martyr.

I'm trying— she wept, suddenly realizing that no matter what decision she made, it would be the wrong one. Going with Alaric so willingly would unleash the fury of the Saxe upon them, and even if they'd scores of lions compared to Aeistrios', even one life lost would be too many. If she stayed here, she lost everything—and so too did her husband, and her children. —I'm trying to do the right thing. But nothing would ever be so mercifully black and white.

What she feared the most, and what she knew Aeistrios would expect, was for them to come back, and back, and back. Her daughter's words send a cold chill through her, the image of watching her children valiantly fight for her freedom, earning wounds and ire and grief. It felt far more worthy a price to give herself up in their stead; for what mother did not sacrifice everything for her children? What mother would Tinúviel be if she fought their battles?

For you I will break, for you I will bleed.

Live for me! she cries out, her gaze turning toward the mismatched eyes of her daughter, so brilliant and beautiful and alight with a fire Tinúviel had never seen before. A fire she lacked within herself. So courageously did Alaric live and breathe within Magdalena, but even this fire was uniquely her own. I have found my happiness in you, my love, and your siblings, your father. I will forever be content knowing you're safe. No matter the price she had to pay for it. Tinúviel were no martyr, no savior—she were just a mother.

@Alaric echoes the same sentiments, and breathless, weeping, she turns to him. Tinúviel is all things a mess, half-curled tendrils falling into her face, eyes red and bleary from her tears. Her limbs are faltering, the closeness shared with him, the overwhelming scent of the Mire written upon his skin, is almost enough to make her give up. I will not have a single life lost over me, she urges, glaring deep into the depths of deep emerald, though there is a tenderness there, no sense of bite left within her. I refuse to have a war waged for my blood.

She knows well what they had done to Melusina, and the trauma she would now carry with her. Even from within the safe confines of the Mire, Magdalena too could not escape such a fate; Tinúviel had wounded her irreparably, too, and perhaps now, if she drove the knife deep enough herself, she could spare her from the wrath of Andal and all the blight that would come after.

We need you. They need you.

I know, she suddenly whispers, and for a brief moment, it appears as if the Queenmother may relent. But as she feels Alaric's urging against her rump, she remains fettered in place, paws attempting to keep her grounded in the Oasis and prevent her from leaving. Especially now, when she catches a glance of white and deep teal, hears the thrumming voice of @Wither pierce through the aching silence. Eyes flung wide upon her request, fear thrumming through her, warnings gone unheeded but—when did she herself ever listen to them? Would she not be a hypocrite now if she willed Wither away, yet demanded she herself remain? Would that be a fight she could truly ever win?

All that came after was a mercy. Finally, she breathed, but she did not feel the sense of relief she should've. She was speechless as Wither addressed her family, mind flitting immediately to the what if's, to the shaking anticipation of Alaric's answer to her demands, to see if he would see the same reason Wither now saw, too. Wither— she breathes, attempting to turn toward the woman. Once, she might have felt a sense of flattery having such a woman throw herself to the wolves for her sake; but now, she felt only a sense of dread, a kinmanship in shared imprisonment, but knowing Wither had nothing to save her as she had. Knowing that nothing would stop Luther Rike from digging his claws into her; and yet already was Tinúviel wondering what more of herself she could give to Aeistrios to guarantee her protection.

@Léonie is neither wrong in her answer or her words, and though she flinches at the harshness inflicted behind them, she does not balk at the accusations levied against the family who now held her captive. I prayed over our cubs, she stated suddenly, her hazel gaze flitting from Léonie to Alaric. These ones, too. With the sudden intrusion of @Azula and @Reistrios' continued presence, Tinúviel could only hope her husband would understand what she meant. How many times, how hard did they have to try to have their children? Would Aeistrios find her worth it for the same amount of effort? Would he not give up, write her off?

If children were the issue, Tinúviel were, for once, in an incredibly fortunate position.

The boy only confirms her fears, but even she cannot hide the unease from the boy's presence. What all today would he regale to his father? What wrath would she face in the fallout of such an affair? Would Alaric truly give up here, and now; and what would it mean for Wither, who had now given herself up willingly to the Oasis? Would it leave her behind?

She leaves her questions unspoken. There is only desperate silence as she lingers upon her husband's tired, aching gaze.

You have to let me go.

Tinúviel vs Alaric & Wither
for Tinúviel
iii of iii

Escape attempt:

Rolling 1d10: 7

Art by AleTie, table by cala

@Azula VS. @no one FOR @Wither
— VOID —

Due to a misunderstanding of site rules and sequencing, this fight has defaulted. Azula is unable to use their rank in threads dated prior to their promotion (10/30).

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of [killing babies, infertiity (mentioned), infant loss (mentioned)]

enough, enough! comes the jungle woman's voice and in it's wake rises confusion. you all need to... abide. magdalena wants to scream. "this is madness." she wheezes, stumbling back and shaking her head. "you wish for us to turn tail, to leave you both as prisoners when we can all walk away from this now? unharmed?" her claws flex into the earth further, no longer an anchor but thin bars that hold the girl in place as this woman - this supposed ally rounds on them. "i don't care who you are," she starts, brows drawn together as her gaze flicks between this woman and her mother. a moment of hesitation for she seems to be someone close to @Tinúviel. "i will kill you if you get in our way." magdalena finishes, gaze settling on @Wither with a firm finality. any wall that stood between her and reunification - of mending - would be torn down. the world that had sunk its claws into her mother would be burned to the ground. surely, the smoking, razed remains that were left would not be able to hurt magdalena anymore. she would be happy again then, right? wouldn't her rage burn out with her revenge?

until then, it would remain. she could not ignore the way it flared when wither spoke again. "you," she spits, teeth bared and the hot dragon's breath pluming out from between their cracks. "will not tell me of what i know and don't." she was old enough to know all the darkness in the world - the absence of a mother and a sister, the wrenching away of her home, of war - but too young to know of this? an ear flicks at leonie's response, her silent agreement.

you and your allies will have to murder us all - newborns included. the boy speaks and her attention turns from one threat to another. magdalena is, at least, smart enough to not respond with what she is thinking. that the prospect of this is not as horrific to her as it likely should be - that magdalena would willingly stomp their lives out like stepping on a stray roach if she was given the chance. if that was what it came to, hunting and extinguishing the saxe like vermin, magdalena would gladly be on the frontlines. the stare she levels @Reistrios with instead, brimming with the unsaid promise, speaks volumes. she cannot say it out loud - cannot let her sweet mother and doting father know just how far she has fallen. magdalena half-expects the angel wings on her back to have shriveled up on her plummet.

tinúviel's cries bring the girl out of her thoughts. instead of her stomping the life out of their enemies, it is her own life wrenched away instead.

i will forever be content knowing you're safe.

"then you will never know peace, mother." it is said so simply, so matter-of-fact. the mother had paved the warpath for her daughter to march down. it is irreversible now and magdalena's head buzzes, the steady drone whispering a sole purpose. down, down, down she goes, the starlight promise of tomorrow fading faster than she can reach out to grab it.

soon she is surrounded and the darkness is not comforting. it is oppressive and lonely and frightening all at once. tinúviel has prayed for them, prayed for her heart to walk outside her body in four pieces, but the girl cannot find solace in knowing she was so incredibly wanted then - wanted even with her broken, failing body. she can only focus being pushed out now. a fleeting thought, a flare of insecurity and weakness, sinks its dark talons into magdalena's skull. surely, it is their broken bodies which have caused all of this. if they had only been stronger, fought off all their infections and rattling coughs and sleepless nights, perhaps their mother would believe magdalena when she said they would all fight. perhaps tinúviel would have faith when she promised they would win their war. perhaps it would have brought their mother home. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. the light in her eyes dims and then the kindling embers are snuffed out entirely.

there is only one way to fix this, only one way to set the world back on its axis. "worry not, i will be the sacrificial lamb for your altar." the girl says after a long moment. her voice is flat, the monotone droll not hinting at an accusation nor at disapproval. no, if magadalena was meant to be an animal at slaughter, her pale neck was willingly bared. after all, that was what all prayers required to be heard, right? a sacrifice - a payment of some sort to make interfering in the silly lives of mortals worth it. clearly, it was time for them to pay up. in some way, maybe her black blood would be enough of a penance for the gods to take pity on the rest of her family.

she would go home, she would beat the weakness out of herself, and her holy crusade would begin. in the end, if the gods saw fit to not throw another enemy at them, magdalena's job would be done. she would sacrifice enough that her family would not need to ever sacrifice again. "your worship was meaningless." magdalena hisses, teetering the tightrope that was being angry at her mother and being angry for her. with all the prayers tinúviel had thrown up to the heavens, surely one had to fall back down, crashing into their little glass house. "you should have prayed that you were barren," she breathes. for what child wished to be born into this? in nine months, there had only been a few fleeting months of happiness until scissors swept in on the heels of such warmth. a frosty chill that snapped the thread that held their family together, that lingered in the empty spaces in their family den.

for our sake and theirs. for a second, mismatched eyes flicker to the gentle swell of her mother's belly. the sentiment is clear, even if not spoken aloud. if magdalena had died all those months ago, been laid to rest with the half-formed siblings from the past, maybe it would have been enough. even gods made mistakes, it seemed._{BG — ART — CODE}

*permission from cala to pp tinny's fainting

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of SA, murder, blood, etc.

he imagines them facing down a monstrous creature. a furious beast with intentions of its own, howling around them, whipping pieces of his mane across his face. lashes from an invisible whip, punishment for wrongs long done and buried. spectres to rise from the grave, to claw at his face with skeletal fingers, trying so determinedly to tear him down where he stands.

there are faces in the snow as it snags in his fur, bloodied and broken and ruined. dead eyes and torn out throats and silent, mocking grins. a long overdue bill thrust before his face and they have come to collect.

release me... abide... prisoner...
what?

@Wither's words reach him as if underwater; he turns his head and it feels sluggish. green eyes are dulled and hollowed as they rest upon the women he had believed to be an ally. fool. if she is looking back then she will see the scorn, the disbelief, and the solid inability to accept any of what she is saying. it did not fit, it did not make sense, and if anything his resolve hardens when @Léonie laid out a bleak and blood-soaked future.

a future that looks to settle in to place, that the wraith-like creatures want to burden him with. penance for the lives he had taken and all the ones he had torn down in his quest for glory.

@Azula is speaking, but it does not reach him. @Reistrios, though? oh, the small cubs words create a ripple, and as they stretch out something snaps.

a dangerous growl rumbles in his chest and his gaze snaps to the child. "your father tortured my daughter. your mother stole away my wife while i was busy ripping out his eye. they raped her, did you know that?" the word is harsh on his tongue, and in his normal frame of mind alaric would have softened it. but not now. softness does not work, now, and he will lift his head and rise to his full, imposing self. "i am alaric starke, patriarch of the starke family. we do not take kindly to those that maim and ruin our own, especially unprovoked." his teeth are on full display, the threat as clear as a summer's day. alaric was not frightened by the pathetic threats of a child; he knew the might of his family well.

i refuse to have a war waged for my blood

his head snaps back to his wife, the look on his face incredulous. was she really that blind? "the war has already begun. it started the minute they stole our daughter and hurt her. THEY started this war @Tinúviel, I am going to finish it." and if it meant he was dead at the end of the line so be it, alaric believed that there would be those who would seek to avenge him. a feud is carved in to the depths of the earth this day, soaked in blood, started by the ones who dared to snatch his daughter. to force his wife to do unspeakable acts based on the false belief that it was the only way to stop them.

alaric knew another way, one that they would not enjoy nearly as much.

@Magdalena speaks and gods she sounds far older than she should. he remembers the tremble in her paw as she pressed herbs in to his scratches, the attempts to hide her uncertainty, to mask it with confidence. tinuviel was supposed to be there, teaching her, showing her all the things that he could not. his stomach twists and while he might have walked away, disgusted by the lack of faith his wife had shown, he could not. for her. for melusina. for rohan and arion. they are children thrust in to the middle of something horrendous, losing so much, and now? a mother who would walk away? a mother who would turn from her when she needs her most?

no.
NO.

"ENOUGH," a roar loud enough to rise above their voices, to silence the bickering and give life to the seriousness. anger races across his skin and turns his blood to fire that burns through the winter storm. "we are leaving. i am taking my wife," he sees the way she stumbles beneath the blows of her daughter's words; imagines that the same lashes he felt are burned in to her skin. @Tinúviel slips to the ground and he takes the advantage he sees. lunging forward to dive beneath her, to slide her on to his back. "if you try to stop me, i will kill you. i will kill all of you. i will call my pride, my allies, and we will not stop until this place is a wasteland. back the fuck off." his expression is dark and stormy, leveled on the strangers that face them, the bastards that have tried to stop them. "tell your rapist of a king that the starkes send their regards."

his gaze flicks briefly to his daughter and he jerks his head towards the border, back where they had come from, back where others of the pride surely still waited. then, briefly, to wither with the hope that she will not stop him, that she will see the insanity of everything that has happened, here.

and then, with the limp form of his wife hopefully draped across his back, alaric starke backs away towards home.


alaric vs. @Tinúviel
for Tinúviel's freedom
3/3

Hits:

Rolling 8d20: 20 + 17 + 6 + 18 + 8 + 9 + 12 + 13

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 15 + 17 + 7

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 16 + 8 + 2 + 1 + 19

coding and art by dusk