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    Svedka -- Year 212


    “He only knows home in his dreams and even those dreams do not mimic large, centuries-old redwoods. Lio doesn't remember the last time he laid his head down and truly felt comfortable.” --Elio, written by Phaetra

    eat sh*t and die } LUPEI

    I need aggression to feed the spiders of perception,
    I'm supposed to be strong and have all the answers,
    But I'm nothing special, I'm not unique,
    I have many secrets and I eat the weak

    Coming into her home and setting it ablaze was more personal than killing thousands of men to her.

    She is under the assumption that this man wasn't very well schooled because if it's one thing you don't do is rattling the psychotic magician who's been 'good' for over a hundred years. She is not in control of herself right now - her emotions, her time-warping, shifting - she has lost all capability of sensibility. She would not rest until this was settled and backing down was not an option at this point. She travels swiftly through the sky though she may look strange as a lioness with metal wings she must stay in a form that can fight at all costs.  Her metal wings loudly swoop down towards the Chamber, she sees it's slowly burning too - a taste of their own medicine. Her wings fold down and disappear beneath her shoulders. Her eyes are wild, her senses so heightened and searching for that of the man who dared attack her home. She wanted to murder him, she wanted to pull his head off and shit down his neck if we're being honest A name comes to her, Lupei, and her mind's eye locks in on him.

    "You fuck with my home, you fuck with me and that was your first fucking mistake," she yells and lunges without hesitation for his side, her claws hopefully digging in his shoulder as her fangs reach for his throat. She is not a coward, she is not one to do things in secret and run and hide. That was not the Amazon way, women far more worthy of the title 'man' than this man would ever be.

    P R A G U E

    magical, immortal protector of the jungle



    What the truth is, I can't say anymore

    His entire being is eaten up with frenzied excitement. The mad dash through the Jungle had been just about as close to insane as Lupei had ever wanted to get, something of a mental bucket list. It had left him frothing at the mouth, fur slick with perspiration from his journey there. He pads now, lengthy strides still carrying him at a regular pace, but his tongue lolls to the side in a quick attempt to cool his burning insides. He knows that what he’s done can never be forgiven - he’s gotten his wish, after all, his five seconds of fame. That fame will cost him, the sisters were merciless. So as he makes his way through the woods, the stench of smoke and ash stinging his nostrils, he’s not surprised to find a flying tiger whiz over his head.

    The Chamber is chaos, but that’s what Straia had wanted, no? To turn the tables of peace and negotiation on their heads? She had certainly gotten her wish too. The air around him simmers, a lone, narrow path forming the only way in and out of his home kingdom now. There was no escaping his attacker from within. Lupei had never liked playing hide-and-seek as a foal anyways, now that he recalls it. He’d always been more of a … truth or dare kind of guy. His eyes search the blackened sky, finding the metal-winged creature screaming her rage at him. He smirks, morphing to his regular form so that he can buffer her much larger size. Lupei knows that what he’s done is enough already - but still, he finds it hard to keep his mouth shut.

    “Fucking is never a mistake.” He calls out, watching her ready for the attack. “Come closer and I’ll show you.” The stallion taunts, and without hesitation the magician lunges with claws at the ready. Her nails bite deep and he rears, yanking his head away from the threat of her teeth. She’s got grip, her hind legs digging across his chest in deep rivulets. The flesh rips free easily, flecking to the ground in ribbons of bloody mess as Lupei swings his body around haphazardly. In the moment, he ignites - entire horse form consumed by his most powerful weapon - choosing to try and singe some of the big cats fur before she can combat it. The she-tiger mauls him, bathing him in his own blood while he shifts his weight and loses his footing.

    The two crash to the earth, Lupei throwing his weight to her side so that he could collapse on top of her. His screams are guttural, broken. The Chamber, wreathed in flame, echoes his cries against her blackened trunks.

    Killdare Ribcage Warship Joscelin

    i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell

    War waited for no one.

    He had known for some time that Straia’s patience was wearing thin. In truth, so was his. The idle chatter did nothing more than grate at his already frayed nerves; he was a man of action, not talk. Wars weren’t won by diplomats, they were won by bloodshed and busted bones, and that was where he came in.

    The dragons scream split the quiet air, rousing him from his silent musings and raising every hair the length of his spine. It was a fearsome noise and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that war had finally started. Why else would a dragon be here? However, before he could do much more than pin his ears in displeasure, the world around him was ablaze. The trees and the dead underbrush went up without hesitation, crackling with a fierceness to match the dragons displeasure. He was not one to be afraid but he could not fight fire. Instead he ran, leaping and dodging even as deadly limbs fell from the trees. More than once fire met his flesh but he did not slow, not even when the stench of burning skin curled into his nostrils. There were screams all around but there was one in particular that drew his attention; Weaver, the princess and Straia’s daughter, writhing in the clutches of the great golden dragon. Warship roared inwardly, his eyes flashing violently. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. He did not have wings, and even if he did, what chance did he stand against a dragon? He was brave to a fault but a fool he was not. So instead he skirted the edges of the firestorm, doing his best to lay eyes on all those still here. They were huddled together and most looked scared but uninjured, for the most part. There was no time to do a thorough check though, and instead he took off again.

    Away from the center of the kingdom the flames were thinner but still dangerous. The black warrior was as careful as war allowed, and occasionally felt the bite of it against his fetlocks. With a snort he skidded to a halt, dark eyes sweeping over the border. Something moved and he strained to see through the murk; the wolf shifter, Lupei. But he was not alone; a silver lioness was pelting after him, her dark lips peeled back to reveal a row of very deadly teeth. She leapt forward, her claws searching for the other stallion. With a roar of fury to match the felines Warship charged forward, skidding to a halt and throwing himself into a rear. Snarling he aimed his hooves at the cats spine, heedless of his own mortality. Eight still had his heart, so no matter what the lioness could not kill him, not completely anyways. When his hooves had found the earth once more he snaked his head forward, mouth agape. He was aiming for the cats scruff, and if he hit home, he could fling the cat off of the other stallion.

    War was his birthright, after all.


    (Flesh splitting apart, layer by layer, under the rake of his claws – revealing white and pink and blood tracing down the curve of muscles to the grass below.) He flexes his paws, feels his weapons slide out from their sheathes and worry the dust below him. (They say once they get a taste for blood.) He moans, his lips pulling back from his yellowed teeth and quivering tensely, he roars and it gyrates through the woods like a thunderous rumble. He paces, lumberous and wiry, a tight coil.

    A powder keg surrounded by flame.

    He turns to her, bright hazel eyes meeting her soft and scared gold. Stay, he cannot say it through his predators lips but she understands him. They understand each other. “Don’t go,” she whispers, backing into the dark mouth of a craggy cave. “Please, brother.” But he scents blood. Stay. She trembles and sobs, and turns to encourage the little bay along with her into the bowels of that deep stone hideaway. Be safe.

    He scents blood and is gone looking for it. He is drawn to it. His stomach rumbles and his hackles quivers as his smooth shoulders arch and flex with each deliberate paw pressed into scorched earth and needles. The air is thick with black, piney, choking and hot – he coughs and stumbles, but he scents blood. He can smell it, a tiny drop on a leaf or a pool. 

    Or in tracing lines from claws marks through tender horseflesh.

    He hears her roar and it piques something entirely untried in him.

    He does not move to them for love of this place. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He does not move to them for love at all (though he knows Lupei and knows his own thirst for meat), and yet when he gets there and sees them he knows thine enemy is his, too. For now, while all their bloodlust comes together in a mighty conflagration. He circles them, his great fangs bared, bright and wide eyes reflecting the lick of fire and roil of combat. When Warship is out of his way, and Lupei clear, the tiger lunges forward, swiping a great paw at her, claws unsheathed. He curls back onto his hind, low and ready, his shoulder shifting.

    He growls, strange, impossibly low rumbles and clicks like loose rocks in his throat.
    [Image: sAxX94g.png]


    “Dacia! Topsail! Sidra! Weaver!”

    Each name a girls, each name striking him solid in the chest as he speaks it. He did not want this for them, not like this, they were not ready. May it was the price of war but if anyone should pay it, it should be him, not these children.

    He yells because he has missed the initial offense on their realm, all he knows now is fire. Fire, smoke, roaring flames that bite at his legs as he makes his way through the Chamber. Fire is not Killdare’s forte, sure he has dragon wings to help but he’s never progressed through so much of it at once. It’s like the worst blanket on the hottest summer night one that your mother’s friend knitted for you and always catches you up in your sleep.

    The next voices he hears are not his own, they are not even the voices of children that he hopes they will be. The voices he hears now are mostly familiar, Lupei wailing in agony, Warship grunting a battle cry, a growl from the strange tiger child,  and then….the enraged yells of a woman. All Killdare knows now is that he is needed, that someone is within their world that does not belong.

    He races to the scene as fast as his hefty size will allow, flames licking at his exposed parts and curling without harm against his wings. Lupei groans from the damage the she-cat has inflicted, Warship is quick to throw himself into her hind before Ribcage swipes at her with his own set of razor like claws. Killdare meets the animal head on,  slamming his full weight into whoever this wildcat is, pressing into her with each staccato word. "You. Forgot. To. Invite. Me!" The dragon-lord grabs at her sides with his wings, attempting to gain leverage and a hold with their taloned tips.

    Perhaps he can manage enough momentum to throw her with them, maybe he can suffocate her with his girth.


    say hello to your mom in the midnight sky

    She doesn’t wait for an invitation, doesn’t even wait to see if anyone else is coming. Her anger is too powerful. They had attacked her home. Her home. Let’s see how they like the same treatment.

    She flies swiftly, unencumbered by clumsy wings, but still she is not swift enough. As she nears the borders, she sees the fight in the distance. It takes her moment to recognize Prague. It is far more intuition than any sort of recognition, for her form is vastly different from what she has previously seen. But there can be no doubt that the lioness is the Jungle’s magician.

    Her mouth is not made for snarling, but she does it nonetheless. Four against one, how fucking fair is that? Assholes.

    Well, she’d just have to do what she could to even up that fight. There was a bonus even: Killdare had decided to show his face. She grins, though it is not a nice grin. There is no humor or happiness in that expression.

    She drops rapidly into the fray, blunt hooves aiming for the winged bay stallion. She puts as much momentum into the attack as she can, hoping to do some damage. She has no intention of being nice this time around.

    Drawing in as close to Prague as she can, she bares her teeth before snarling a fair warning to them.

    ”You want a fucking fight, you got it.”

    With no further warning, blast of pure white light explodes from her body. She avoids Prague as best she can (though she’s pretty sure the woman can take care of herself), but she sure as hell wasn’t holding back on the others. Let them dance for their lives.



    I need aggression to feed the spiders of perception,
    I'm supposed to be strong and have all the answers,
    But I'm nothing special, I'm not unique,
    I have many secrets and I eat the weak

    It takes no time at all for several opponents to join her but this does not slow her down, this does not change the fact that she will fight until her very death if the world would have it. It would be a blessing if they could take her out of her misery but it would take more than four men to do it. The little shit responds with some snide remark, a sexual advance if you will, "It'll be hard to do that if I rip your reproductive system out," she says, as he rears and she sinks her claws deeper in his flesh - it feels so good ripping beneath them, the nerve endings shocking albeit soothing to her overstimulated mind. She feels a crash into her as the black horned stallion comes full force, knocking her off Lupei - she extends her metal wings and swoops the ash up from the ground as a loud snarl is released (in pain). She is trying to make it harder for them to see, ash in the eyes cannot be pleasant she thinks.

    She falls alike with the ash, rising into the air as nothing; she becomes the leftovers from the chaos.

    appearing a few steps over  and multiples - now there are three other lionesses cloned just like her and with a loud, roar the ground begins to shake beneath them as two tusked elephants begin sweeping their trucks across the chamber as the raven's peck at the elephants rough skin.  The silver lioness roars once more at this Tiger approaching as the other three lionesses pile in to form a circle around her - snarling, teeth bare, foaming at the mouth - blood dripping from Prague's. She lunges from the middle, clashing with the Tiger with a unearthing growl as they tie up, she bites at his right eye socket - her claws pressing into his flesh - hair tuffs blowing around. She gets close to being taken under, Tiger's are bigger but this one isn't trained as well as she is. She flits away enough to get some grounding as she catches a Raven cawing and swooping around them. "Attack the others,  pride!" she commands until she has help, knowing they are not as strong and will only be a minor diversion. It is not long before a much larger creature slams into her, her side eye catches it but not before damage is inflicted - she was in the middle of shifting to a rhino and got caught somewhere between. She grunts and the wind is knocked out of her, he lifts her with his wings as she fights her way to get loose from his grip.  She shifts to a black tiger snake, a highly venomous one with teeth large enough to break the skin of the dragon boy. The only downside is that since her body mass is significantly less and thus she's being harmed - constrictor she thinks and becomes one, large enough to wrap around the wing if she's quick enough and start working on killing the tissue and crushing the bone. She mentally calls to Lagertha, "Lagertha, the Jungle is safe - I need help here in the Chamber, it's me against four but growing rapidly," and she then puts up a mental barrier there are other magicians not far away. So much for staying under the radar but she finally responds to the dragon-like brute, "Nice for you to join us, just let me know when you're ready to tap out," she tightens her grip while keeping an eye on the Raven's looming overhead. Finally she sees a sister and she's both at ease and growing stronger - she turns herself to water, repelling off the male's body and to the earth as Joscelin sends lightning cracking in the sky. Prague makes herself a conductor and spreads it across the area, hoping to reach their hooves and shock the hell out of them; she can be pretty punny.

    The elephants are startled by the lightning and rear up, crashing down and making the earth rumble as ash falls all around and water spreads - what a beautiful chaos. Prague's business had been with Lupei but if it's going to be all for one and one for all; so be it. The ground is left muddy in some areas, she shifts to a horse form; finally (but surely not for long) and runs towards Lupei once more approaching his left side with full force. She was not small, an Andalusian build with a thick neck and strong legs - she hopes to crash into him where she had previously ripped to shreds - introduce infection and inflict more trauma to the wound, ah yes suffering made her happy. If that wasn't enough to do it, she created a ball of cosmic fire to crash onto him - in the event he didn't scurry away from it - it would singe whatever it touched. "Joscelin, strike the trees - the Raven's, send them scurrying!" she yells and wildly looks for the other opponent, the one who had crashed into her spine. She hones in on Warship, vines spread from her feet and reach out for the black stallion in an attempt to draw him nearer - she must use her powers without much exertion if she has to keep this up. Work smarter not harder, men would never understand that concept though.

    P R A G U E

    magical, immortal protector of the jungle

    we were caught up and lost in all of our vices
    in your pose as the dust settled around us
    The Chamber’s sky was soaked in ash, whole treelines engulfed in a roaring, thirsty dragonfire that roared along its insides. The only other being that moved amongst the sky was a gold-scaled dragon with a filly clutched between her gleaming claws and fire licking from her lips as she snarled over the burning kingdom. A dragon that glistened with raw strength, a dragon that spent each night beneath his touch.

    The smoke is chokingly heavy here so the king drops from the sky into a smoldering, ash-path where embers still glowered. Dragonfire was heavier, crueler than any earthen fire they had known – no forest fire compared to the scorch of what brewed in a dragon’s belly and so it was not so easily quenched.

    The clamor of fighting reaches his ears and so the Nightwalker finds the group of three stallions and a motherfucking tiger beset on a metal-winged silver lioness that smelled of Prague’s familiar skin. He is on foot, talon-tipped wings clutched at his sides –black feathers burnt at his feet from the fire that reached as he made his way. Before he clears the line of ashed pine trees a pulse of light, blinding and physical reverberates through the Chamber – hushed and bright and powerful.

    He is further away than the others so the tremor doesn’t shudder him as wildly as it possibly does the others. He knows it is Prague that takes the form of the lioness and can only assume the mare that comes to her aid is of Jungle blood as well, the other four were of fair game. Fucking little coward shits, mobbing one who stood alone – a mare nonetheless, never mind that she was an immortal magical ancient wholly capable of disintegrating them each on their own. Well, that is until she spawns several replicas of herself. He watches as she turns from snake to water,

    At once two horses made of bedrock, as thick and red as the Deserts stones, were fed from the ground on either side of the king. They were identical to Vanquish in every way, down to the now crispy burnt feet feathers – except they were made of rock, desert rock.

    One stone beast sets its aim on the tiger that prowled the line, claws wet with warm blood. The replica besets the cat front hooves failing, a soundless squeal emitting from its opened stone jaw as it tries to trample the feline after Prague’s attack. The second beast finds its direction on the nearest thing – the newly arriving Killdare with the little wishful dragon wings. The stone leviathan merely drops his head to his shoulder and aims at the stallion’s body – any part will do. The summoned creature was made to be crumbled, so why not turn it to dust it on the bones of the enemy? Besides – he had no true control over them once they were made, anyway he didn’t even bother to see if they met their marks. Their presence alone did enough.

    Vanquish sends a wave of Desert sand towards the remaining bunch as the Percheron charges into the fray, rising back on scaled and taloned wings as he catches Warships eye – he was nothing so weak as to need an enemy’s back turned for his assault. He wanted them to be ready, they fucking needed to be.

    He snarls a dragon’s growl as he drops to the ground, adding to the array of lion’s and tiger’s curdles of blood. His eyes are keen on the beast before him as a patch of cactus with long and fat barbs appeared beneath where Warships feet were and where Lupei lay. A sheet of cactus barbs moved to cover his chest and body as plate of desert rock materialized over his face and down his neck. He does not see Prague send the vine’s out to catch Warships feet as he rocks back on heavy haunches – striking out with his hooves at the stallion’s left shoulder and forearm with a heavy momentum. This was not his first war and was very far from his first battle, the king preferred to avoid the risk of entangling his legs in that of his opponents – they were such small and mobile targets anyway, so he rarely went for those. He would much rather aim for bigger chance of contact, a larger area. But doubts his hooves will make any contact if Prague’s vines make her mark and drag the Chamberling further away.

    In roar of adrenaline another patch of barbed cactus appeared somewhere in the clearing in which the horses fought and the fires burned around them.
    dragon king of the deserts
    picture © s-uperflu0us

    ooc- i had to rewrite this like three times because you guys are so fast

    Also; Van created two replicas of himself made of desert bedrock that are trying to attack Killdare and Ribcage. He himself is attacking Warship and he has rock armor on his face/neck with cactus barbs over the rest of his body. He's also summoned random patches of cactus in the fighting area so have fun with that
    all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash
    She is not afraid to admit that she is scared to death.

    Leaving the Valley had been her priority, before Eight threw up his protective barrier. Certainly she would have been able to come to and from the kingdom if she so pleased, but she just couldn’t be damned to ask him for special permissions. Besides… with her abilities, it would be wrong for her to sit aside while her kingdom mates and their allies were being hurt, maimed, and even killed. She can heal after all; there may be magicians on their side, but they will be utilizing their talents elsewhere. She can heal them. She can help.

    She had met with Flamevein, only briefly, before they set out to their neighboring kingdom. A simple request and she has a beacon of the pyro’s flames surrounding her like a flaming orb. She can see through them, just as anyone could see her inside the flames, but hopefully the inferno will drive them away from her; she will not be fighting, anyhow. The circlet of flame is only a protective measure. It will keep her safe and burn anyone who tries to attack her; she will be safe to help her family. That is what matters.

    Flamebrand had protested up a storm when she had told him he must remain home, but he, too, had to be protected. “But I have wings!” he had cried, indignant, but Cress had been adamant. “And they have magicians,” she had countered, and though he was angry, he had finally agreed to remain behind. He is too young to fight—she is too frail to be a part of the fight, really, but who was there to tell her to go home? No one. Her mother is dead and her father vanished… she is the one who must protect herself now. She has to protect Flamebrand and she has to protect herself.

    She arrives not long after the fighting begins, and already it is bloody. There is a lioness—no, four of them—a tiger, and horses, and it appears that all but the lions are on their side. The Chamber is burning, but the waves of heat don’t even break against Cress’ barrier (not that she isn’t already toasty inside a ball of flame!). Swiftly she focuses on the injured—the stallion who had been ravaged by the lioness’ claws is her first priority. Blood is spurting rapidly from his wounds and she zeroes in on him, staying well away from the bloodstained battle arena that they have carved from the Chamber floor. Heal, and continue on, is the message she sends to him with her healing touch, cringing away from the pain herself.

    Empathy. God-forsaken empathy. Why had she allowed the Valley to bestow upon her empathy, of all things? She can feel their pain—all of their pain—as if it is her own and it is excruciating. But she has to soldier on. For them. She cannot allow them to fail.

    To the others she sends a breath of fresh air, a surge of healing to boost their own energy. None are as hurt as the wolf-stallion who initiated the burning, though Killdare’s wings could probably use a bit of a time out. She sends a little extra to him, just in case.

    With that, she herself taps out, fading back into the shadows. The battle will be a long and difficult one, and if she is to keep up with all of their injuries, she will need to rest herself and take it easy between surges.

    If they come for her, they’ll find she has a few tricks of her own up her sleeve.
    oxytocin x kindling


    But the night fades away and gives way to the day

    The young mare had followed after those of her Sisters who had headed out of the Jungle hot on the heels of the wolf who had come to set it ablaze. She's not quite sure why she did so, she's hardly a warrior, much less one trained for years to be a fearless weapon. Caught up in the moment, Draconis supposes, the shared outrage that their home would be attacked in any fashion. She doesn't have much of a plan once she arrives, either. There's so much going on, a nonstop battle-vista laid out before her innocent eyes. She finds herself wishing she'd stayed back home, where it was (mostly) safer and there wasn't a rampaging dragon overhead, or various animals (shapeshifters? she wonders) on the ground committed to a battle royale against Prague, Joscelin, and their allies/dopplegangers. But she wasn't a filly anymore, she was a sworn Sister, and she was not going to run back home in shame.

    Spotting the elder Amazons does give her something to home in on, even if Prague was doing the body switcharoo thing herself, and she hastily makes her way towards them, anxious to help. She did bring her own trick along, the gift she'd been trained in over the years, though with the place already aflame, it might be a bit redundant. The star-blanketed mare shrugs that off, taking in a few deep breaths to prepare herself as she looks around for a target. She catches sight of a large winged stallion, a stranger to her, but passes her gaze on since he definitely seems to be anti-Chamber with how he was conjuring various fauna and flora up to send against its fighters. Joscelin's lightning strikes are as worrisome as they are deadly, and the girl hopes they are far more controlled than those created by nature.

    Draconis sees Prague attempting to ensnare another stallion with some vines, and decides to try and help her in this endeavor. The heavy-bodied stallion from a few moments ago is thinking ahead of her on this, striking out at the black male. She waits for his strike to be completed, then moves behind the battling pair, as near to the black stallion as she dares. She exhales as hard as she can manage, unleashing a jet of flame from her muzzle to try and keep him from being able to back away from the vines' reach and hoping she doesn't catch anyone, literally, with the old adage of "friendly fire. " Her heart hammers in her chest as she rushes back towards their little group of allies, her eyes and ears peeled for any other way she can help out in this insane melee, for any instructions the older, more experienced horses might give to her.


    For what else is the night to do?
    Photograph by Isabel Mansfeld

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