"speech."

The warmonger was restless. Things had been exceptionally…boring now that Alaric was a father. The King wanted them to lie low and build their strength both individually and in number and he could understand it, he really could, but still…he wanted more excitement, more blood, in his life. Perhaps that was fixable. The Gentry would make his way to the driest part of the Mire, carefully dodging the deeper puddles so that his coat wasn’t completely caked in mud. He really hated it in the swamp. Really, he did.

The gladiator would stop in the center of this ‘arena’ like clearing and look around, it would do for their small but growing pride. After a minute, the Gentry would issue a single, snarling roar, a call to all of the Mire lions. He was no leader, it was not a mandatory call, but those who would answer would have the chance to hone their battle skills. Today the ground was relatively dry and the sun offered sufficient light through the canopy, they had all had plenty of rest since the uprising and he was sure that Erna was recovered enough from delivering cubs that even she could participate in a fight if she wanted.



-- Training event for anyone that wants some fight experience :) I will post again on the 29th (one week from today).

code by corvus

She had not been properly prepared for the type of land this pride resided in. Her white attire was horribly coated in
mud that never seemed to quite dry on her lower portions. Small splatters of this and that seemed to have found ways to mark the rest. She was a mess and she disliked it. However, it was not something she would outwardly show her disdain for. Often not she would hide her true thoughts and feelings on most things. Her mind was her own business.

Today, it would seem the very brute that had to lead her to her appearance's demise, would attempt to draw some forth for what would seem a training. Smirked was fixed on her lips as she carefully picked her way to the dry clearing he had chosen for them. She does not stop there, however, as she attempted to round the brute and come up daringly close to his side. She wanted to feel the heat of his flesh near hers before she would slide away.

"What a paradise you had brought me to." The sarcasm is second to the honey tones that flee her parted mouth to find him as she chose to sit across, a mere few feet away if allowed. Curious as to what sorts would join at his beckon.

code by corvus

@Ronin

A summons would sound within the mire, of which Patchouli had barely had a moment's opportunity to leave of late. It might seem some form of witchcraft that she remained as clean as she was, snowy white head and flowing pink and merle markings washed of dirt and mud and even softly scented a pleasing aroma, provided delicate floral notes didn't offend your nose.

An arena hardly seemed the place for such a delicate little female, one without even the most basic weapons. Without claws, she stood even less of a chance in a fight than a young child might when fighting one of their parents. She served a different purpose however, while a soft touch was of little use in a battle, it was the desired contact one wished to receive for mending wounds. She might lack skill in healing, but basic training would be enough to mend small scrapes and bruises from a practice spar.

Patchouli would enter silently, observing the two strangers for a moment. Should the male look her way, she would politely bow her head to him respectfully before sitting down a safe distance away. She would nod to the female under similar conditions, perhaps even offer a gentle smile before averting her gaze. She would have brought a few herbs with her, which would settle near her feet as she observed, full of nervous energy.

image by moogle/code by saph

Whatever prompted Ronin to call them here, she heeded it only for the promise of action. Motherhood was a difficult task as it was, but being stuck in one place made it ten times more dull. By now, she was used to the children's routine, and they were starting to exhibit signs of speech with their random nonsensical babbling. Soon enough, they will not need her milk and they will be able to walk outside. As per Alaric's instructions, she will have three little newbie soldiers to train. Wasn't that just wonderful?

She stepped into the clearing, her athletic shape slithering forward through the greenery, revealing two gathered including the Nobleman. Her eyes scrutinized the two women: both small and pale, but one especially frail-looking. @Patchouli earned a longer, piercing stare. There were too many strange women showing up to the Mire as of recent, flocking like the vultures they were and threatening her dominant position. And although she knew that Alaric would take more wives - as all men are entitled to - anger sparked within her veins whenever she thought of another woman trying to replace her. She found only a little solace in the fact that she was the firstborn's mother.

@Alyvia was tiny, too, but she didn't lack the muscle. Erna only spared her a fleeting glance, before acknowledging @Ronin. "What is this?" Her rough, accented voice urged.

WIDE AWAKE IN THIS VIOLET CITY The call rang out and Nusura responded obediently. She had been collecting herbs, as healers do. But on this occasion she left the stash she had accumulated to dry in the hollow of the tree she’d chosen. As she navigated through the mud and the water, her webbed paws gliding before her and feeling for roots and other obstacles. She would always touch something with an outstretched paw, toes flayed, before making a step. It was a careful and meticulous pace, but doing so helped forge a mental layout of this place that was her home. Nusura actually liked the mire. She knew she neared the group when the sound of familiar voices was close. She saw the forms moving, the small and unconscious movements bodies made. She stopped a distance away, angling her head toward a tree at her left. She casually moved to rest her shoulder against it and crossed her front paws in a roguish lean as she cocked her ears toward the center of the group. Ronin, the beast in the water. She also recognized two of the females, one being the singsong healer and the other the bluntforce warrior. She would nod, if anyone even noticed. Otherwise she leaned against her tree, feet folded over one another, and waited for the purpose of this meeting to be announced.

Ronin's call sparks his interest, if only because he is intrigued to see what the warmonger has up his sleeve. indeed their numbers had grown but there were few amongst the newcomers that he thought to be true fighters -- except, perhaps, the slate woman Slaine. a training exercise might be exactly what was needed; alaric expected that this time of peace would not last long.

He arrives, stopping some steps away to survey those that had already gathered. @Ronin, of course, who earns a respectable nod from the Ecrosian monarch. @Alyvia he does not know, but from a quick look seems capable. Small but strong, even if she has her femininity working against her. @Patchouli's presence surprised him, but a small smile was given to the soft coated girl. It disappears quickly, little more than a flicker that would likely be unnoticed by most of those gathered. @Erna, then, and he is hardly surprised to see his vicious mate here -- the promise of a fight would draw her like a fly to honey, no doubt.

A conscious decision is made to sit apart from all of them, settling himself not far from Ronin's side. Alaric was here to watch, but if they happened to have uneven numbers then he would be quite happy to give a lesson himself.

THE THUNDER OF THE DRUMS

table by sentinel / art

Another buster knuckle bruise

He didn't have much intention to yield to a call from Ronin, and rather he is skirting away from the bellow when a series of scents catch his nostrils. Ecrosia was growing. Women were plentiful, but still his bed was empty. He ought to work on changing that. Only recently he had met the very willing form of Sif, a gloriously war-torn woman who had offered her body in entirety (rather out of nowhere mind you), but she had no intention of joining him permanently. A fleeting romance.

So, allured by unfamiliar scents, Violarum eventually meanders towards the call. Making extra effort to appear disinterested as he found them amidst a clearing. Lazily he would saunter, noisily traipsing mud, thudding his backside down well away from the group. He had no intention of being trained by the white-faced male.

'Cause I'm a liquorlip loaded gun

_{— art by Rabs}

and we don’t need saving

We’re hell raising

The lioness had been away from Ecrosia exploring the surrounding landscape when the faint summons of @Ronin had reached her ears. The lioness had turned swiftly away from her adventuring and headed back in to the mud and dirt of the swamp they called home.

It's apparent that she has arrived late, sapphire stare lingered momentarily over each individual that had also bowed to the call. The woman strolled toward the group and came up past @Violarum, who not surprisingly, lazed at the edges.

Sláine paused at his side, sending him a curiously sympathetic look. "Are you sulking?" Finely sculpted head inclined a little, amusement flickering behind her slate features. She's theorised that baiting him might draw out some kind of work ethic.

code by corvus / image by kim

Another buster knuckle bruise

He is vaguely aware of her arrival, his senses tuning haphazardly into the presence of the steely female. Of course, when she slid up within his rather close proximity, a once lazy consciousness became blatantly hyper-aware; skull turning to allow his eyes to remain fixated upon the mature woman, eager.

“No,” he grumbles a simple response, admiring the simplicity of her flesh that allowed her body to boast of athleticism without drawing the eye elsewhere. “I’m not doing it,” simple as that. Perhaps he was too proud, or just too lazy, what difference did it make. Then, he remembers - “Did he ask you?” Barely even a gesture, he just assumes she will know of what he speaks of. Ronin had been boasting that he would ask @Sláine to be his mate. Had he done it yet?

'Cause I'm a liquorlip loaded gun

_{— art by Rabs}

Gloomy. That's the first thing that comes to mind when he sees the Mire. Well then. Everything smells like moist soil and the barest hint of sunlight is suffocated by the canopy above. He's not sitting very far off when a snarling roar steals through the thick air. The sound catches him so off-guard that he sits up in alarm, almost falling down again as he feels his strength rushing out of his backlegs with arrant fear. Is it the king Violarum mentioned, enraged to see him loitering on his lands?

But lions start filtering into the Mire, and he eyes them uncertainly. Oh, right. He's part of a pride now. That means he's at least tolerated. Right? Quickly, he gathers his feet, hoping no one saw his little embarrassing display. "That was the signal to eat, right?" He forces a smile, trying to ignore how close he got to soiling himself just now. When he's sure no one is looking, his face drops into, perhaps, the sourest expression anyone has ever witnessed. And barely any lionesses his age to hit on, too. Jeez.

code + art