This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of religious undertones & sacrificial rituals, slightly suggestive themes, & slight gore

To claim that one is holy is a blasphemous thing to a God. Though, to live as if they are righteous is a central desire amongst man. To find the simple in between of these two statements had always been such a troublesome quarrel for the raven. A woman that was bore from blood of nuns, and yet held the righteous power of a sinful man whom held the peoples devotee between the palms of his hand. It was hard to not let such things to get to one's head when the world simply revolved around what would come next from the creed cursed by witches.

Of all things that Ixora had become whilst under their fathers rule, undesired had never been one of them. Crucified however, that had been a different story. They seem to remember vividly the times between the velvet veils where they had once felt holy, if even for a moment, if even away from their fathers eyes. Where woman had been only but a phrase used to glorify them when whispered from her lips, when heaven's gates were opened unto them whenever they wished. Where the definition of fragile became truth if only for her eyes to see, her skin to witness - a touch so soft that it would be considered blasphemous to a man filled with the greed to conquer. In those moments Ixora had witnessed death between life, and come to tell the story. Though, the same could not be said about the one who had worshipped them against the congregations wishes.

They are waning again. Wandering far from the comforts of familiarity - if there truly even was such a thing in this place. Still, the creature of brimstone and fire is not where they need to be. Not where they are expected. Instead, they are wandering, wandering far unto the outskirts of tree top temples to create siliceous realities that would soothe the wounds that leave the raven prince forever changed. There is little remorse in what they do, for it is what they have been taught since a babe. And while it had never truly worked much to their father's dismay, there is still a selfish and greedy hope that perhaps the black magic that tainted the pure will aid to sooth the ailment of greed.

There is quick work within the hopefulness that seeps through the façade, as the raven queen begins arranging the assortments of feather and bone in an odd triangular Patten. The body's settled neatly into pre-organized piles somewhere nay of five or so feet, a feast to any naive enough to be blinded by truth yet an offering to the seldom mag-pie and crow that watch them intently from the tree-tops above. A precision severs the sewing of flesh, spilling crimson unto the frosting greenery in a horrifying scene of gore. Quickly, now - the must work to spread what is left of the offering pulling the bloodied body of the wee babe antelope amongst the grounds to intertwine the sigil with a hefty exhale.

By strength of Earth & Water's Flow

A breath.

By fire's light and air that knows
Surround with soothing light
Keep safe from now to night
Goodbye darkness, be on your way
You will have no effect for this day

It is finished.




Potential EXP
+10 Sacrifice an NPC creature
+10 Cleanse an area of bad omens
+10 Tell a story about the after-life

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Madalina is all-too aware of a trespasser lingering outside their door. She is returning home with a satchel of bones when she hears the rhythmic murmuring of a stranger; the cadence of which leaves her to believe there is danger afoot. Her ears flatten against her head in immediate distaste as she glances over her shoulder to @Mélisande, eyes narrowing in rage at the audacity of this woman to sully their home with the worship of false gods. A fellow priestess-in-training, she knows her sister will understand. If nothing else, she will recognize the fury on her face.

Madalina creeps closer, staying to the shadows as she listens to the blasphemous chant. A prayer or a curse, she cannot tell, but it sets her heart ablaze to know there is someone tainting her home. She shifts, craning her neck to listen and absorb the words. If she knows what hell the lioness is unleashing, she will know how to set things right once more.

Double XP:
+20 Cast a curse or blessing on a character/group
+10 - 1/2 - Learn a spell or prayer

art ♥ code

She is never too far from her twin, tethered to one another with an invisible rope. Wherever @Madalina goes Mélisande was bound to follow, both as a sentry to keep guard and as the curious thing she was and wanting to know what her sister was up to. They had been out gathering bones for her sibling, the eldest of the two more so keeping a watchful eye while they were out and about. It wasn't until they were on their way back that something seemed to gnaw at her, causing for her fur to rise along her spine and her ears to twist forward in attentiveness.

It's right as Madalina turns to look at Mélisande that she hears the chanting, rhythmic and lulling. She can see the anger upon her twin's face, the same smoldering glare in her own ember eyes. "Ils viennent déshonorer nos terres," They come to disgrace our lands she speaks softly to her sister, gaze now shifting toward where the chanting was coming from. It's here that Mélisande takes the lead, pushing past brush and foliage and uncaring of the noise she was making to get to this whoever thought they could come and practice their craft in the presence of immortals. She is a Princess, after all..

"Who are you?" Mélisande speaks her question loud and clear, staring directly at the woman and disregarding the display and dead antelope calf for the time being. Her tail flicks behind her and eyes narrow, toes flexing to allow prickly claws to unsheathe.

@Ixora

ART BY 86, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

She's a phantom — a ghost in the shadows, blanketed and kept safe within the thick underbrush of the rainforest. Her darkened flesh hides her well, along with the pungent perfume of the forest's bounty that naturally hides her own scent. While not one to hold herself back in the face of proposed violence, this time she makes an exception. She waits like a gargoyle in the shadows as she takes in the striking appearance of her loving children making their first debut in the world of pride politics.

@Madalina hangs back in the safety of the pride's borders, but her twin sister is much more emboldened by the blood flowing through her. @Mélisande leaves the safety of the trees to call out to the stranger — to demand their reasoning for being so close to the family of cannibals. A swelling of pride in the monarch's breast as she lay in wait, should trouble befall her daughters.

After all, nothing is more frightening than a mother's wrath.

ludivine is attempting to hide

ART BY SCARF — CODE BY SILH

Darkness thrives in that of the unknowings presence. Oblivion held just between the grasp of pressed fingertips as the soil of feathered parchment coils the tethered mortality to the unsuspecting God's homeland. They seem to make quick of their promises, the curated creation of apparitions that linger within the dark foliage of mother natures lead. An omnipotent being against immovable forces, the raven startles. Hair pins prickling amongst folded wings as crimson gaze scatters to cease the voices from their summoning. A shudder settles somewhere along the crux of unclipped pin feathers - an omen settled unto the sacrifice.

A child. Unfathomable within the measures of what they request and yet - still a gift sent to ail the emptiness within. It brings the creature from their seance, silencing their callings. Ixora cannot help but to gawk, staring back at the beast with an expression so blank...so careless that it could easily be considered as disrespect. Qui suis je? Who am I? It sounds like such a trivial pursuit, a question repeated for clarification despite there being no lack of explanation between their simplistic request. My name is Ixora A lowering of coats brings the ravens crown to dip lower unto the the greenery, chin clipping the tips of ankles as the creature finds an odd sense of worship in what their. offering has brought to them.

When mortals speak, what do they call you? Goddess? Wielder of creation? Ravager of lands? Keeper of wars, or bringer of peace? Tell me. I wish to know.

@Madalina @Mélisande @Ludivine

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

TRIGGER WARNING !! This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. The children intrigue her; now that they are old enough to hold their own, Léontine is not so uncertain to see them. They don't squall like prey quite so often - and she can control herself she thinks when they speak. And with the twins approaching a stranger, she is even more intrigued. They had sprang from her own womb, after all. Though they'd never know it, she does. And while she is not the mothering type there is still a sort of detached pride, of curiosity of how they will grow. Léontine nearly barges into the group - but she catches scent of @Ludivine and, taking the hint, flattens herself to the earth and eases her steps so she can slink in alongside her. The hound doesn't flatten herself to her Matriarch's side as she may have, once - there is space between them that feels like a canyon and she swallows past the agitation that swells. She worries that her sister is still hurt - angry with her - and doesn't want to push the situation. Instead, she merely leans forward to drop her chin onto her paws, keen eyes tracking the two youngsters as they're faced with a strange speaking their language. Léontine is hiding w Ludivine

The chant dies away, but Madalina has stored it to memory. It is enthralling to learn about false religions, she must admit.

But the wrath that ignites in her veins is foreign. For so many months she has lived in blissful nothingness, having nothing more to be angry over than a couple of petty childhood squabbles. But this? This shakes her to the very core. Not only is this stranger sullying their lands, but now she is speaking in a tongue that does not belong to her. With a tongue that should no longer belong to her. Madalina writhes in fury, her ears slicked back against her head and back arched so dramatically she appears more twisted marionette than feline.

She slips among the shadows, practicing her stealth while @Mélisande keeps the woman's focus ahead. Her eyes meet with her sister's briefly as she moves behind the stranger, keeping herself crouched low and moving as quietly as possible. She must get into position before she feels comfortable and presses her belly against the ground, flattened out, to wait and see her sister's reaction to the blasphemy.

Double XP:
+10 Practice speed or stealth

art ♥ code

Mélisande is unwavering as she stares right back at the woman. She could feel the lack of presence from her twin, her mind wondering if @Madalina decided to lurk in the shadows and was waiting until the perfect time to emerge and show herself. No acknowledgement would be given that the girl wasn't alone, and instead focuses all her attention on the woman - the one who speaks her family's language. She can feel the blood begin to boil, the the sound rushing to her ears. It makes her body grow rigid, if only but a moment, before she forces herself to calm herself.

"Tu n'es pas de ma famille." You are no family of mine. It was the only words she would say for several long moments, allowing for a pregnant pause to wash over the two. @Ixora wasn't apart of the Dieudonné clan, so why was she speaking the tongue of them? Her tail flicks behind her when she is questioned on what she is called, confused by the way it was asked. Without missing a beat, she responds with "Princess Mélisande." Chin juts upward toward the sky a bit as she puffs out her chest and straightens up to stand at her full kiddish height - as if she were meaning to look intimidating. In her mind, though, she did.

@Ludivine @Léontine

ART BY 86, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

He's nowhere near as incensed as his sister; Lothaire has nothing if not his father's indifference. He trails towards the sounds of his sisters and the unfamiliar purr of a stranger. A stranger speaking his family's tongue. The growing prince is less aggressive in his approach, prowling for @Mélisande's side with a nonchalant sort of amble. His gaze is fully reserved for @Ixora as he approaches, volcanic eyes shifting around their form and narrowing minutely. They don't look like anyone they've met before but it means nothing when the boy has almost never been out of his own homeland.

Still, the way Mélisande reacts to their presence ( and, surely, @Madalina, because the twins are never far from one another ) is enough to set him on edge.

Loth aims to brush his shoulder against her hip in a silent greeting, shifting to stand a few feet at her side, then. He already towers over his sisters and though he is young, is likely nearing the size of the stranger. Why are you here? He drawls, looking all the world as if he is bored - but there's an undercurrent of hawkish interest that he can't quite wipe from his gaze as it settles firmly on the stranger.

ART BY SPU | TABLE BY DEE