The first warcry had buckled against the trees of the southern end of the rainforest, no more than a dull drone that trembled its racket through the peace of vibrant birds in their comfortable nests. Gauthier raised his head, slumber-drenched on the cold stone beneath the ridge, toward the far reaching quarters of the forest. Beach-born, its bellow too muted by distance to discern whether or not it was more than a plain beckon for rank or dominance. Yet he would not rest again, stretching the ache of an ill sleep from his tired muscles whilst his tail rattled at his ankles, dragging curling claws to hiss against the slab.
Another, then, this time of certainty. Isla.
He leapt to his feet and roared to those of Firnen, calling them to arms – to make good on their promise to Scilla. For as much as Isla intended to do for Firnen, they would do for her. It was an exchange whose simplicity would not be taken for granted on his watch. True to his suspicions, more calls rang through the ebb of morning, one for Illyria, another for Ecrosia, and another far louder and far-reaching than prior. Andal.
Through the dawn-lit growth of the wretched jungle he barrelled in thundering stride, senses awakened to the long-awaited symphony of war. It was not until he arrived, furs blackened with volcanic sands and glistening with sea-washed salt, to the shores of the Lagoon that he broke gait to gather his breaths in preparation. Though age had worn its etchings in his skin and peppered the dark of his mane, his musculature bristled in fiber, their chainmail clink gathered in each heavy lope to the siren song of prospering crusade.
Isla was entangled with a beast only familiar in the flashes of memory – each time in the company of Wolfbron. Yet among them all perused the entity of Vermedan forest creatures, Scillan soldiers that clashed with their enemies, and peppered throughout the many of their allies that swept in to follow suit. His gaze swept to @Everick, a beacon among them, sidled to the appearance of Rainer. But it is not long before Morrigan’s voice rings through the pandemonium, naming him her opponent. As she charged forward, Gauthier took a protective step toward his nephew with a resonant growl, but it was not the moon-touched yearling she was after. It was the Jarl alone. They meet in a clash, and Everick is spared – if not jostled by their unfortunate proximity – from her rage.
Aside, Colsun bellowed an order for the merciless assault on their enemies, taking to a piebald lioness and then joined by two others. The gargoylean brute swung to face the many who attended, though much of their fellows (and enemies) were already engaged in their own bloody battles. He breathed the chaos deep in a long drag, a serene smile ripping its way across his dark lips as his skull lowered and shoulders rolled to crack the dust from their peaks. His eyes lingered upon @Taraji momentarily, noting her engrossment over the feud at the heart of it all.
A familiar voice caught his attention before he could call to her, sweeping his vigilance over Alaric and a gathering of youths battling or – embracing – or… arguing? Before it erupts into a fray between the former king of Ecrosia and one of the distressed children. But there is seemingly little that requires his aid, a warlord and a yearling. And this is not the time for reunions.
Is it?
His gaze halted upon @Louve from across the battlefield, heeled by Wolfbron jackals yet to immerse themselves in the growing bedlam. He looked to the familiar face of Valaine briefly, before centering squarely back upon their Queen. Held upon her his eyes narrowed, his blood singing with feverish heat. Without the presence of Amara as her shadowing dominion, one wondered: Where was what was owed? It had been months to stew, months to fester, months spent in claw-ticking wait, and how he was weary. The grains had all but nearly filled the glass and the cracks had started to splinter.
To whomever from Firnen would join him at his side, his skull tilted, his voice resolute and commanding. "Defend Scilla and all that stand with them. Cripple Vermeda’s strength." Whether or not Isla would remain queen of the Lagoon, she would see her enemies devastated by any necessary means. Let the pain be their lasting memory of war. He would let his pride decide for themselves who would be their first chosen prey of the few Vermedans who yet remained uncoupled – and he would pick up what was left.
Take your pick.
Another voice split through the bloody siege that unfolded before them, childish and unbridled, sending his memories to the first taking of Firnen and the pesky cretins who could not bind their tongues in the face of destruction. A shadow among the wreckage: a yearling female hurling curses, threats, insults. The perfect contender for his children’s first foray into their fledgling taste for war. A grin curled impishly at its mangled corners.
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