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 Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 12:49 pm
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 Fashaq moved through the pride like a lion on a mission. And he could very well be described as such. A lion on a mission. The band of reavers had only just returned from their Viking. He hadn't paused for a any praise for the goods that were brought not. He hadn't even stopped to say hello to his sister. The reaver, wounds along his side and half his face bloodied, had moved straight towards where he believed he could find the Warlord.
His mind still reeled from the events of the Viking. A strange lion had crossed their path, speaking to their captain about a merchant group with food and goods not far. They had found the group, as promised, but once the bounty was theirs…
The captain had seemed to go mad, speaking of taking the glory and the loot for himself. Speaking of how his band had turned against him. Treasonous words that cold not be quelled. There was a strange fury in the old lion. He would sooner kill his band than let reason into his ears.
But it was three against one. Fashaq aimed to be a captain one day, but not like this. Not with the weight of a mad but dead captain on his shoulders and the vote of the band to take his place. It was all bizarre. Too bizarre not to be reported.
"Warlord Zjarri'fol," he started as he stood before the warlord's quarters. Fashaq's voice was a rough one, like there was constantly sand in his throat. "I request an audience to report on some… events that have occurred." Events. As if there wasn't enough going on around here already.
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Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2018 2:42 am
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Peace wasn't an option given her position. Quiet wasn't an option either. Zjarri'fol found herself in many conversations that she had never anticipated happening - two of which resulted in a new Captain.. others resulted in far less exciting endings. She wasn't shocked to hear the call of her title and name, but the voice was new.
The Warlord emerged from her den with a proud stride and eyed the guest warily. His markings were striking in both a beautiful and yet fearsome way - especially beneath the blood splatter splashed in various degrees across his pelt. "I haven't seen you before, I certainly would have recalled your pelt." Zjarri didn't hide the way her eyes wandered, though it wasn't for any purposes beyond tracing each curve of those intricate markings, even if the action might flatter another.
"What is your name, and what event are you chattering about?"
What happened to traditional greetings? Her mind wandered, as it usually did, to another place as she spoke to what might be yet another Captain. The conversation had a vibe to it and she readied herself, even if she was being a bit presumptuous. She considered bringing up the greetings, but instead chose to remain silent and await his answer.
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Posted: Sun Jul 22, 2018 5:40 pm
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As she made her way out, it occurred to Fashaq that he hadn't actually spoken to Warlord Zjarri'fol before. Known of her, certainly, but who around here didn't? The lion didn't know what exactly he expected her to be like, but now was hardly the time for him to just let his mind wander.
"Apologies for any intrusion," he started. If Fashaq noticed or minded Zjarri'fol eyeing his markings, he didn't seem to show it. "I am Fashaq, a reaver in Captain Kveda's band." Well. He was, anyway. "It hasn't been three days since the band left. The captain, myself, and reavers Mkhai and Sigrun. On the second day, we came across a grey rogue lion who spoke to the captain of a merchant group to which he would lead us."
His words weren't slow, but were given at a thought-out pace with the intention of not sounding like a flustered and blundering fool. "And that he did. On the third day the group was found. They ran, for the most part, and their goods were to be taken, but…" His forehead creased as his brow furrowed. The markings above his eyes made his expression look almost snarled.
Fashaq had been thinking about the events since they occurred. About how little sense there was in it all. "But the captain became mad once the treasures were ours. He turned on us, claiming he would take it all for his own. That we were conspiring against him to steal his glory. Any attempt at reasoning with him just brought accusations of mutiny." He shook his head, thinking of the crazed look in his captain's eye. "It was uncharacteristic. It was madness. From the famine, perhaps. Or…" Another shake of the head. "Or something else."
A breath left him in a frustrated sigh. Fashaq did his best to keep his eyes to fall to the ground as he thought through his words, standing square-shouldered with purple eyes meeting the warlord. "It became clear that he'd sooner kill us all than listen to reason. We tried to restrain him." His lips pressed into a thin line then, thinking of the moment that he had made the call. "It was no use. He is dead. Though it seemed like he was lost far before the killing blow was made."
Behind him, Fashaq's tail twitched. It was more words than he'd spoken to any one individual in weeks, if not longer. "The merchant goods have been brought back, and the other reavers voted me to take the captain's place. Hence…" he let his voice trail, then, motioning with a paw to the space between himself and the warlord, as if saying 'hence all this.'
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