If devils possessed the land they would be there. Hrefna's paws moved with steady purpose as she scaled the wilderness of Amaryllis, her brows permanently set with a troubled furrow between them. Though she was a stranger to their modern political climate, the seer had only known the marshlands to contain trouble for the Sigrún family. Such a setting for that day's brawl did not bode well, made manifest by the twisting knot in her stomach as the greenery grew dense and smothering around her.

Spring winds thrust snarling calls all around Hrefna's periphery until her head spun. Battle lurked within that mire. She pressed forward along the shadows of the mangroves, taking in the scents of countless prides mixed with fear and anger and curiosity. She scanned what faces she could for familiarity, ultimately settling upon contrasting shades similar to her own as she attempted to creep up behind one battle-worn elder.

"Morrigan," she chuffed lightly to announce herself, sure that many lions lived to regret sneaking up upon the lioness. Hrefna glanced around at those who already flanked her, her chest tight at the notion of being surrounded by strangers on all sides. This was when she saw the challenge itself – at last! In a moment of supreme deja vu, that crimson pelt sounded an alarm of familiarity.

It was her sister seeking this crown.

---

|| april y12 | six years | rogue lioness | at ecrosia mire | @Morrigan ||

_{BG — ART — CODE}

Right on lackadaisical cue, there lurked Lorant on the outskirts of that commotion. Marshlands were a close cousin of his preferred jungles, though there lingered a distinct air of rot in the mire that the forests lacked. He traipsed along the tree branches just in time to pick up a juicy morsel, ignorant and unconcerned with what borders he may have crossed from above.

“We are not enemies. May the strongest win, but let no hatred bloom.”

His eyes danced with amusement as the creature took in what the massive lion said. Oh, but where was the fun in that? Was it a pride challenge if there were no panties twisted? Lorant lingered silently above as he watched the grizzly show, eyes wandering over the crowd as if begging someone to throw the first punch. They needed scandal – they needed pageantry. That, or Lorant's trespassing would prove in vain once more.

---

|| april y12 | nine years | vague pride | at ecrosia mire | HIDING ||
+10 - Sneak into a pride or group without getting caught
+10 - Learn something about pride/group/family relations
+10 - Remain undetected in a large thread (5+ characters)

_{ART — CODE}

code (c) daanyen

He's disgusted.

Returning from a day away from the pride, and he comes back to it empty and abandoned? Wet, but ultimately, abandoned? And strangers are here. Here for the claim.

Where was Luther?

As Grimm looked around at the gathered lions... He knew none of them. The stink of their enemy was evident, but who was it? Blue eyes searched the gathered lions, recognizing the scents of the Summit and the one they called Morrigan. His father had mentioned her once or twice. A matriarch of sorts.

He was in enemy turf, but he was not hiding. He was likely with scents of old, from the pride that previously belonged here. Blue eyes found previous prisoners - now free - @Solanum and @Odette , specifically - and he glared at them hard. They got lucky this time.

Utilizing a tree nearby, he began to scratch it, to sharpen his claws in case he was noticed and his scent recognized. The boy would not run and hide with his tail between his legs. He was taught better than that.

Twisting his head, Grimm's eyes lingered on the fight as a lion and a red lioness fought severely for the right to claim these lands. And it was beginning to come to an end. He would linger to find out the winner, and then he would go, wander off to a new corner of the lands.


[barb xp]
+5 Observe a fight (Colsun vs. Zahra)
+5 Maintain your weapons

+5 Attend a spar or challenge to assess the wounds
+10 Sneak into another pride's territory without getting caught
+10 Successfully stay hidden for the duration of a thread

The swamp mud clings to her fur, but Jazmin is persistent - she refuses to turn back, no matter how disgusting the feeling of squelching between her toes is. What the hell is Colsun doing? She’d heard it, the call, the claim - and been unable to ignore the chance to see him fight. To act like a man. She arrives quietly, the battle nearing its end, but there’s still time to watch. The smell of blood fills her nose, and her mouth waters. She hasn’t felt that urge to fight, to taste blood, in a good while now - and this makes her feel alive.

Jazmin notices @Karsa just head, watching the fight as well. Her gaze skims over his form. He’s growing up. There’s a want to approach, to take his side like they did when they were children, but the girl lingers in the shadows instead. Hiding. Right now, family is the last thing she needs. So Jazmin presses herself into the background, for once not wanting to be the center of attention.

coded by flea + image by rabbit

There seemed to be no sign of Luther his family here, though she had half expected him to be lurking nearby, silently fuming as he watched a pair of lions clash over what he believed was his. What it must be like to fight for a stretch of land that you would then own. She had always envisioned turning pride into a haven for the animals that needed it the most. She didn't think she had it in her to fight to create such a paradise though.

As she sat there, she would feel a growing discomfort, though she was unable to discern what was bothering her. Was someone watching? Was that prickle of fur up her spine from someone staring at her? She would frown, afraid to actually turn and look. She could think of no reason anyone should look at her when everyone usually had a tendency to simply ignore her. @Vladizmir had not ignored her, quite the opposite, but he did not cross her mind as a potential suspect in that moment.

She would not visibly react, doing her best to convince herself she was just being paranoid. To calm herself, she would quietly hum a familiar tune, one that had always made her feel better when her mother sang it to her as a child._{BG — ART — CODE}

TRIGGER WARNING!
This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of stalking, obsessiveness, creepiness, etc.

Fiery where the molten eyes that swirled their desire. His gaze locked upon that pastel temple that was just out of reach; so close to the crowd that the beast dared not step from the shadows. He lingers, there within the underbrush with elongated claws spiking the earth — earthen mother's whispers so brief in her murmured words to him that he can almost not hear them. 'Breath,' his mistress commands - those invisible fingers of his Goddess right there upon his spine with her fingertips stroking against his spine from tail to shoulders — the wrong direction.

His toes would spread diligently across the ground, moistened ground so easy to slide between his toes. If only he knew she could feel him; it would have inspired the beast to press on. She was his. Hackles would greet the sky as the fur responses to the indirect stroke that he feels in his heart; what vile thing was the Earthen Mother about to command of him? Her whispers where muffled as his gaze focuses upon the lioness.

'You are my blade,' the whispers of the Goddess slices somewhere deep and yet She is all but forgotten in this moment. What need was a blade without a wielder to hold back the tide? His sister — his wielder? No. His two toned gazed was a long predatory thing; a serpent that was meant wrap its coils about it's prey and drag it to hell with him.

But she would provide the opposite effect — pull him from the depths of hell and to those destined for heaven's gates. Vladizmir could not let her go. No. The thoughts whirled violently within his thoughts as muscles bunched under layers of scarred flesh and well kempt mane. Lips would separate — her name riding upon the serpentine curve of his tongue; close to the surface and yet those words to provide her with well deserved worship did not spill over.

His sanity was naught but a carrion crow with unfurled wings — prepared to beat them against gravity and escape this unwitting reality. That crow is shackled to the earth by blackened chain and gore coated collar. Ragged is the breath that is released from between his dried lips; exhaled as mist while his head dips so closer to the earth and nostrils carefully flare as he draws her scent inwards — clutching it tight against his chest.

That long piece of lavender decorated his mane, twisted within the depths of mane and held close to his heart. Full stomach would remain brushed against the dampened earth; shoulders rolled ever so slightly forward as if he could defend against the way she made him feel. The beast stays there in his hidden spot tackled under the underbrush.

Ever the dutiful Shadow —

cast by the brightest ray of light.

-Vlad is hiding-

[exp]
+10 Successfully stay hidden for the duration of a thread
+5 Gather information about a character
+5 Spy on an individual exchange

[Tags]
@Bordeaux

(Attempting to hide in the shadows, out of sight and covered in mud fully)


Miaran had a neighbor to the Cove at the Mire and the flood that had washed away that pride. Her body was covered head to toe in mud and muck, enveloping her in a cloak of filth as she stealthily made her way towards the borders and beyond. The irony of witnessing the downfall of one who had taken a life was not lost on her. It was a day of war, a day of bloodshed, and as she stood in the shadows, her hunger gnawed at her insides, craving the chaos and carnage before her.

Two contenders fought for the crown, one of them a familiar face she had bested in the Pit. Though she had missed the battle, she found solace in observing from the darkness, taking in the interactions of those around her. The gathering of familiar faces brought back memories of her own challenges in the Cove, of those who had left when the former Queen had been defeated.

A slight frown tugged at her lips as she watched the turmoil unfold. Her Black Widow stood beside the Witch who had raised the dead. The resurrection of the lion with a torn throat was a sacrilegious act, a defiance of the natural order. Death was supposed to be final, a rule not to be broken. She kept her ears pinned back as she remained in the shadows, absorbing every detail, every nuance of the situation unfolding before her.

Miaran trusted her Black Widow to handle the situation, for now. The air crackled with anticipation, and she could only wonder what twisted schemes lay ahead. The thrill of the unknown pulsed through her veins, fueling her obsession to unravel the secrets of this enigmatic world. In that moment, she knew she was exactly where she belonged—amidst the shadows, amidst the chaos, ready to embrace whatever fate had in store.



Sleuth Potential
+10 Learn something about pride/group/family relations (spying on exchange with Aphrodite, morrigan, eisa, Isla)
+10 Remain undetected in a large thread (em claim)
+5 Practice disguising your appearance (mud)

table code by daanyen

So this was the mire, huh?

He'd heard enough about it, time and time again. He imagined it.... darker. Full of nightmarish shadows and other spooky things. But, it seemed the only nightmares here had been the lions themselves, and they were all gone. He trudges through the muck, lupine muzzle wrinkling with clear distaste. Why anyone fight over a mud pit was beyond him, but then again.... he's here to snoop, so he didn't really have much of a high horse to stand on. He doesn't seat himself amongst the crowd-- instead, virgil keeps to his feet. Knowing that he's already gonna need a bath, but he'd like to keep most of the mud off of him. Still, he peers around at the faces of those gathered, as if hoping he might see a glimpse of red hair among the crowd. He won't, and he doesn't, but that doesn't stop him from trying-- or hoping.

Foolish boy.

+5 observe a fight


A call had rung out of the claim of the Mire and the dragon found himself returning to the place he called home for so long. When he stepped across the borders and felt the muck squish between his toes a sense of relief washed over him. This was home and it always had been for him. Maybe it was time to return? A low hum in his throat was made at the thought. Livyatan was also enjoying his freedom currently, something he didn’t really allow himself in his youth.

Much to his surprise neither challenger was one of Alarics spawn (that he knew of). Yellow eyes narrowed slightly while he looked over each challenger critically, he knew neither of them and decided he would not be returning home until they had proven to hold onto the crown long enough. Moving around the bush line of the fighting he would recline into a seated position beneath a large tree to watch the fight unfold.


"talk"

The politics around Amaryllis seemed to be getting very volatile as of lately.

This time being their neighbor on the eye of everyone. And the big question remained, what will this mean to her mother? What would the changes of leadership bring to the political environment of the already tense one around? The yearling of dark pelt didn't have an answer nor she thought she would ever have it.

But by coming her to watch this fight she hopped to at least have some clues. And thus she sat down observing the fight with keen eye while she sharpened her claws with a nearby tree.

The moss and humidity under her paws felt strange but not that bad.

+5 Observe a fight
+5 sharpen claws

ART & CODE BY DAWN, CODE MODIFIED BY CALA