I put my armor on, show you how strong I am

The call was something she couldn't ignore. Not now, not ever. It was one that made her skin prickle in ways she despised. And gone she was again, disappearing from the borders where she'd sat.

Slinking through brush and brushing against stone on her journey, she'd rid herself of all scents that were not her own. No scent of any pride would linger on her pelt when she arrived. She'd made sure of that. And she intended to keep it that way.

Powerful strides carried her towards the mountain, up the paths that so reminded her of the mountains of her home. Well, what used to be her home. The closer she got, the more she heard. The more she smelled. Slowly, she lowered herself, stalking closer and closer. Only for a while though, only until everything was in full view. Then, she stood tall again, oved with the confidence and grace of a warrior queen, verdant gaze searching the crowd.

Fluffy ears laced against her skull as she watched the pale figure collide with not Morrigan but Talisa. Tear her to pieces. Lagertha thought, oh so tempted to call out those very words in support of the Summit Queen. Her eyes continued to search the crowd, a chuff of support sent towards @Morrigan, wondering if the darker Queen would remember her from that so short encounter a long time ago, when the Cove still belonged to another.

But then her eyes found a figure more familiar than any of the others in attendance. And that was where she moved, coming up next to @Aphrodite ♔ with a low rumble.

+5 Observe a fight (Talisa vs Brighid)

code by flea, art by irish

MONZA

So this was how things in Amaryllis were like? Where did chaos and random displays of emotions majorly influence those who interacted within it? Interesting to say the least, yet she was here not only for the fun blood oftentimes gave her but perhaps Luther would like any news that might come from this event.

Being the secretive lioness she was meant to be, her visit was not to be spotted. She had come washing her scent and making sure to make no mistakes. Using the pebbles to hide and have a safer place to observe the events unfold before her orange eyes.

Flexing her toes she read herself for anything.

hidding

[possible exp]
+10 Successfully stay hidden for the duration of a thread
+10 Sneak into another pride's territory without getting caught
+5 Practice speed or stealth
5 Practice covering your scent

coded by flea

Clove Stärke-Vandiir ...

Some distant voice told Clove she should not be there. It was not her pride called in question – not even her birth-land. Oh, but how could she resist that tantalizing summons on the breeze? She had been wandering the grove when it rang out. What was a little further? Sure, Thella was expecting a report that night of her daily training, but the youth told herself she would be back in time for all of that. She should have known how these things went.

Anyone familiar with the girl would be able to tell right away that she was nervous. Her eyes were held wide open where they were usually laxed, her ears occasionally flicking forth to adjust her mane in this way or that. She did not think she had ever seen such a crowd. She did not think she had ever witnessed so many lions grunting and groaning over this grievance or some other one. Her beginnings had been blissfully ignorant, and even her endings a hushed affair kept from youthful eyes. Clove was tired of never knowing anything – of never understanding.

She settled herself toward the edge of the crowd, hesitant to sit for fear of freezing off what little tail she had. Clove kneaded her paws idly as a steady gust of wind practically threatened to blow her right off of that frigid mountain. At the center of it all were two women: bodies narrow and lithe, teeth bloodied with what she could only assume were remnants of one another. She tried not to gulp down her apprehension too audibly.

Clove hated them for the spectacle of it. She hated them more for the feeling of green envy clawing at her gut.

---

|| december y12 | 1y - 10m | OH yearling | at illyria summit | OPEN ||

code | art | background

+5 Study the weather or an astronomical phenomena
+10 Find a notable landmark in a territory

+10 Discuss the features of a territory with someone ?

Where he'd come from, it had never gotten cold enough for anything to freeze. So the chill that had slowly crept int the air over the past weeks was something new, and a little annoying if he was honest. It seemed worse the further he traveled north, and the first instance of the white flakes in the air had been met by curiosity and confusion. The substance disappeared when it touched his nose, but it clung to his fur. It tasted like water when he chanced a lick, but it was soft and solid when he stepped on it. Really, his only complaint was the way it sapped the warmth from his pelt, and that it seemed to be washing away the poisonous red paint on his claws, revealing their natural translucent white.

The challenge call interrupted his observations, echoing over the landscape above and piquing his curiosity. Naturally, he followed the sound, though some attention was still paid to the way his paws left perfect little imprints in the white fluff like they did in mud or soft dirt. It was only after he'd gone a few hundred feet that he realized the landscape largely looked the same - rocky, white - and that if he wanted to take the same path back down the mountain, he'd need to find some way to find his trail again. Scents didn't seem to stick around as well on the fluff.

Ahead, he noted a large boulder all by itself. If he squinted, it sort of looked like an elephant's head half buried, but bigger than any real elephant he'd ever seen. The 'trunk' (or shape that suggested one) seemed to point downhill, and so he'd note the boulder as something to loook for on his way back down.

When he finally found the source of the call, there were others gathered and a fight already in progress. Nico would settle himself to the ground outside the border, large fluffy tail wrapping around him the best it could to keep in what warmth he could manage.

not trespassing, open to interaction

It's all fire and brimstone baby

so let's go outside

code by corvus || ref base by vlinnyy

would there ever be rest?

alaric battled his own demons, high on the icy mountaintop, in the wake of realizing he had seemingly switched sides in an ancient feud. ever since death had fallen on him, delivered by the teeth of a rike... or perhaps before that, since learning of what his darling son had been capable of.

nevermind the whispers reminding him of his hypocrisy, of the threats he had once uttered to his own wife -- i'll break your legs myself -- and the source of luther's education. a part of him long laid to rest, so he tells himself, but when the call rings out for the summit he feels it rise once more.

fury burns through his veins -- for her, he knows -- as he makes his way to where they have all gathered. keen to throw the bitch from the mountain himself for looking to steal a crown when it's wearer was wounded. how cowardly, he mused, and cowardice had no place in this world.

battered but not broken he emerges from the shadows to take a place beside her, unafraid of what the position would mean to any who watched. alaric starke owed his life to @Morrigan and now he speaks to her, quietly but not in whispers, "whatever you need of me, i am here." a vow made that others might hear and he simply does not care.

coding and art by dusk

s

o forget theories of sorrow / & hellfire & brimstone at the final circle of the earth: / if I must believe in anything, I choose this

---

She should not have come. Winter has reared its ugly maw and swallowed the Summit in its hibernal embrace. It is a chill that rattles her to her very bones, and reawakens the blight in her lungs that threatens to steal her breath. She's come only to watch, incessant curiosity beating out whatever sensible hesitance she had otherwise. If the leadership of the Summit were to turnover this day, Melusina would need to know if her father would wear the banners or another.

She understood her mother's friendship with Morrigan. Tinúviel wanted to befriend every soul she met, and it killed her in the end. But her father?

Melusina is quiet, ambling through the snow under the cover of Torre's protective wingspan. He's perched upon her neck, his claws desperately clutching into her plush fur, his wings spread on either side of her head as the occasional gust threatens to throw her from the mountain. But when they reach the safety of the trees and the relief of slower snowfall, her heart only beats louder, angrier.

The crowd is still small, but it is growing fast. Scents not just from the Summit begin to filter in and among them her father. Before she can so much as take another step he's hastening to the wounded queen, while the other engages herself in battle against the stranger challenger. Melusina diverts her path, attempting to utilize the treeline to hide herself as she slinks closer to where Alaric and his company stood. It is only when she reaches them does she hear the words uttered from his lips, just barely audible above the howl of the mountain wind:

Whatever you need of me, I am here.

She never understood why her father wears Illyria's colors.

Now, she thinks she does. And she resents him for it.

She's made a promise to herself. She's not strong enough, but Gods, does every second feel like she's losing her grip on control.

Liar.

She doesn't give him a second to respond before she's upon him. Launching herself in the air, aiming to approach from behind. With her claws extended, she seeks to bear them down upon either side of his hips. Her weight is featherlight, but she hopes her resurgence is enough of a surprise that she can use her entire form to knock him to the ground.

---

Melusina vs Alaric
for minor maim
i of iv

Hits:

Rolling 2d20: 1 + 15

Dodges:

Rolling 8d20: 16 + 8 + 6 + 2 + 19 + 14 + 5 + 13

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 8 + 16 + 4 + 11 + 3 + 17

Art by rabbit, table by cala

((OOC: Agreed prior to the fight to waive the timer by myself and Phoenix))

The young Saxe was no stranger to the hauntingly familiar call that rang throughout the Summit. But he was no less enraged now than the last time his home had been challenged for. He moves quickly through the Summit's snow, the smell of blood fresh in the air as the battle had already begun. He slinks towards the gathering, dual-toned eyes finding @Fearne quickly amongst the gathered lions before slipping towards Talisa and the unknown pale lioness as they fought for the Summit. Interesting. Surprised to find that it was not Morrigan there. It did not take long to find her either among the crowd, the imposing form of the woman his father had sought to kill and failed, by a miracle.

He feels his chest tightening for a moment as he watches her, thankful they had been able to bring her back, thankful Fearne had not had to suffer the loss of his mother as he had. He would do anything to protect him from that again. He seeks to move closer to Fearne but finds that both his sides are preoccupied. Orei wasn't surprised, Fearne was a beautiful soul who was meant to be surrounded by others. Orei on the other hand felt like a lone wolf, not yet sure how he fit into the pride. A pride that had once been his enemy.

Teal eyes shift towards the Palomino lioness that sits in support of the challenger, and he can't help the anger that wells up in him. The nonchalance with which she sat while that woman tried to take their home. His blood boiled, and his nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of the Mire. The Mire had once been an ally of his father's, so naturally he held the same hate for them that he did then. While Fearne was passive, Orei would not be. He was bred to be a fighter; to be a dog his family could use to their benefit. He would prove his loyalty here and now. He was a Saxe but he was not his father, he would rewrite the hate between the two families. Too bad the Palomino lioness had to take the brunt of all his pent-up anger.

START FIGHT POST

"Time to go." Orei hissed through bared teeth, as he moved towards the smaller lioness. Dark paws thumping against the ground in a steady rhythm as he closes the distance between them. Lunging forwards Orei attempts to latch both front paws onto the meaty part of her shoulders, attempting to hold her still while he tries to latch his open jaws around her right cheek just below her ear. Ears are tucked neatly against his mane, while his back legs are spread evenly apart to balance himself while only on two legs.

@Orei vs. @Anya ♔
For Dominance/ Get Out
Round 1 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 16 + 13 + 8 + 14 + 7 + 9 + 15

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 18 + 19 + 4 + 15

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 11 + 14 + 16 + 8 + 1 + 7

--- +1 dodge for summit's pride tier 4.
--- +1 luck for the attendance of the summit's lead advisor.
((Permission from ice to fix dice mistake))


"SPEECH."

coded by flea + background credit

cain

savante

The Savante Prince heard the call from far off. He wasn’t really the type to go and watch such events, especially when they had nothing to do with him. However, he decided that he would spectate today. It was important to understand the significant events within the land, and maybe his father would need the information later on.

So he hiked up the mountain, the faint scent of the Hollows was already upon the wind which surprised him. So, he followed and found a girl watching the battle closely. “Hello,” he greeted her, slowly he would lower his rump upon the snow. “It’s quite cold up here, isn’t it?” he said, starting up small talk.

“I’m Cain Savante, Alexander’s son, I don’t think I’ve met you before,” he added, his voice was directed towards her but his red eyes were locked on the two women fighting for the Summit Throne.

― ★ ―
December Y12 | 1 y/o | Obsidian Hollow Royalty | at Illyria Summit | @Clove

_{BG — CODE}

Peregrine has an exp booster for himself and everyone in this thread!

This is the Summit. The place his mother lived before. The place Andras Rike died, only to be reborn as Folke, live as a coward under a false name and then run away. The snow cap mountain towers above him, a looming testament to everything Peregrine has come to realise is a lie.

He loathes the very sight of it.

Someone calls for it though, demanding the Queen’s presence and - Peregrine can’t help himself. He needs to see Morrigan, needs to see what was so important about Illyria Summit that everything happened on its peak.

The fight is already underway when he makes himself climb up into the snow. Silver gaze casts quickly around the growing group. There’s few familiar faces, no one he can rely on - can he rely on anyone anymore? Either way. Is Morrigan the one fighting? She seems fierce, but not the warrior-type he’d been imagining had bested his father in his prime.

He sits back, on the outskirts, just another face in the crowd.

_{ART — CODE}

What's this?

Do his eyes and ears deceive him, or has an interloper actually come to try to push the Illyrian Queen from her throne? To steal away the crown that should be his? Today, the women of this land have finally achieved a level of foolish daring so high that even he cannot label as anything other than utterly appalling.

What else could he possibly say about the sight of a worthless nobody overstepping their bounds to conquer the fortress that was meant for the Rike?

Cold anger burns in his chest as he claws his way up the mountain, the depths of a single icy eye crackling with indignation when they finally land upon the nameless challenger, his dark lips curled into an ugly snarl. How dare she disrupt his carefully laid plans? How dare she attempt to enact the Jarl's vengeance in his place?

And how dare @Morrigan just sit and watch on the sidelines after everything, denying him the pleasure of watching her blood spill.

He should bleed her himself, he thinks as he paces along the outskirts of the gathering crowd. He should rip her remaining eye from its socket and leave her a crippled - a joke, never to be worthy of the titles of 'warrior' or 'queen' ever again. Of course, it would be a shame for her to be unable to watch when he inevitably crushed today's victor beneath his heel, but some sacrifices simply have to be made.

Yet the spotted hide of @Peregrine catches his eye before he can shoulder his way through the crowd, and he pauses, his skull tilting in thought, before his scowling features softened slightly around a devious smirk.

If Morrigan doesn't even possess the honor to defend her own throne today, then he will not do her the honor of being felled by a Jarl.

Fascinatink, isn't it? After all her talk of beink 'chosen by ze gods', ze Hündin Königin seems awfully content to let another defend her precious crown in her place. Almost as if she knew she vould lose. He growls lowly, materializing at the ashen youth's side to turn his attention away from the battle and towards the black-and-white shape of Illyria's High Queen. Take a good long look, Junge. Zere stands ze infamous Morrigan, ze 'noble' woman vho stands by vhile cubs are drowne't by our enemies. Ze 'righteous' zealot vho slaughtere't our kin on zis very Summit. The bitch vho stole my eye. He sneers into Peregrine's ear, his eye flashing with both anger and cruel mirth. It's fittink zat you should meet her on ze day she is nothink more zan a coward.

Long claws unsheathe, dragging ominously against rough stone as he turns his commanding gaze fully upon the boy. If you vish to reclaim ze name Rike for yourself...Zen you vill bring me a pound of her flesh. Push her off of zis mountain if you must. Avenge us. The Jarl's face stretches with a manic grin. "Unless you vant to leave zis mountain as ze nameless bastard you came here as, of course." It was only fair that Peregrine's loyalty should be tested, when he'd been sired by such traitorous blood. And while the boy busied himself with proving where his allegiances truly lied, Rainer could cast an eye towards those he could cut to injure Morrigan further.

It was only natural to assume she had family here. Friends, perhaps. It would be a terrible tragedy if they left this mountain in pieces, wouldn't it?

Art + Code by Dee