[SRP] Like Young Gods Rising (Harm's Way & Death's Door)

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

((Solo RP by ~Latonia de la Courtel~, currently featuring Harm's Way and Death's Door. [Unnamed NPCs: Their Mother & Sister]. Please do not post unless invited.))



Teepee Here

 

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

As is their way, the way of their kind, they awaken without names.

He is aware of She Who Bore Them, the female presence that gave them life. To call her mother would be, well, preposterous. She will certainly never act like anything of the sort. Birth Giver, perhaps. But She Who Bore Them, for certain. She is the near silent fall of paws. She is the scent of bear and blood, the musk of predator and tang of the hunt. She is wind whipped hide and rain soaked earth. A growling voice, the only time they will hear it unless there is a strange turn of events or a grave misfortune, and they cross paths again. So she bears them and seals them in the soft grass baskets, containing fragile forms, and giving a singular warning.

"Rest and grow strong, young... So that you may one day awaken and be fierce," She councils in a distant tone that indicates she has no emotional stake in this. The only emotional connection she may one day have is pride that her lineage has been continued, and perhaps one day there will be the pride that may come from the knowledge that she has successful, strong young. Such a thing remains to be seen. Regardless, there is no sort of care. No warmth, no affection, no love. "Travel far away from here. Hunt well. If you do not, you instead will be prey. Be fierce, or fall before the claws of the strong."

It is the only time they hear her, she gives no name. Moreover, she gives them no names, to earn such things they will need to survive. There are three of them, safe and snug in their baskets for the moment, left to grow and escape when the time is right. When they emerge, they will be each other's first test. If they live, they may name themselves or be named by their prey, or the few that may survive. if they perish, what feasts on their bones will not care what they were called (or not called) in life. It will not matter, just as they did not matter.

But he is the first, knows he will have at least a minute advantage over the others. He will be first from the basket, first to escape the confines. It may be enough to get him a jump on his siblings, that remains to be seen. Regardless, he resolves to matter. Determines, most fiercely, that he will survive. At the expense of his siblings? Well, needs must.

His growls echo in his small enclosure, fill the grove they inhabit. One of the baskets returns the noises, snarling with equal fervor. One of them hisses quietly, smells like She Who Bore them in a way that tells him other. But the sounds tell him weak. That one he will certainly kill first, perhaps before she even escapes the basket. That one he will kill first.

For now he will sleep, and grow strong.

Harm's Way Wordcount: 503  

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

He awakens just moments later, heartbeats separating him and the other. Instinctively, he knows that he is the second. The fact that there is a third is somewhat immaterial. One way or the other, there will soon only be two. Either the First will get to her, or he, the Second, shall. So the Third is irrelevant, younger and fragile in a way that they are not... assured to not make it far beyond the tines of a basket, if that.

Their bearer is of import, of interest; fierce and aggressive but also cool, dispassionate. She speaks to them like they are nothing to her, tells them what they should do to bring her some measure of pride, and what they must do if they wish to survive. Rest, stay away from her, hunt. She does not tell them to fight as soon as they are able, but they all know that is what will be.

When the First snarls, he returns it, and they both seem to regard the third with a baleful disregard. Insufficient, weak, unsure... The Third will die, and then they will fight.

But first, he will sleep.

*

The tines of the basket are weakening, creaking and popping when he moves, as he fights to uncurl from the sleeping coil he has been in for too long. Outside there are things to hunt, and things to fight, and wind and sky and rain... In here, there is nothing but his own company, his own thoughts. He is well enough acquainted with them, with his plans to fight the First, to kill the Third, to seek prey and grow strong as She Who Bore Them bid.

The Second shifts, stretches, and grins fiercely when a tine snaps. Soon, then. Soon he will be out, out and in motion. Free to test the edge of his claws, the cut of his teeth, to unfold long legs and see how swiftly they will carry him over the ground. In the dark he can see where his pelt shifts to lighter shades, but overall he appears to be dark in color. Perhaps he will hunt in the mountains, or at dusk, where that will be an advantage. He does not know about The First, but if he has his way it will not matter. Soon he will be The Only, the Survivor, and then he will hunt.

But for now, more rest... It is early, yet.

*

The Second awakens to the shredding of tines and the knowledge that the First has finally grown strong enough to breach the structure that had encased him. There are sharp snarls and the sound of sticks and tines tumbling to the grass, perhaps a few bouncing off his own basket. The First has exploded onto the scene, and if He does not wish to die where he slumbers, he must make a concerted effort to do the same.

There is no mercy, here, among these young Shifters.

Death's Door Wordcount: 493  

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

He is aware that She Who Bore Them visits now and then, likely to see who has emerged. Surely they will be a kind of threat if they outlast each other, if they survive this first bloody test. It is no surprise she would want to see which of them managed it, who might challenge or threaten her one day. She never stays for long, peering in to see if they are free or contained, blooded or victorious. As of yet, there is no change.

He will change that. He will be The First, as he was born to be.

Sharp claws curl and catch, digging into the creaky tines that form his prison. It is too small for him now, he is no longer content to doze and dream of bloodshed. Now he will have it in truth, he will fight and hunt and tear. But first, he must tear himself free of this dainty prison; then he will kill his kin. Then he will hunt, and explore the world he can scent and hear; for it is waiting just beyond his confines.

*

He shreds his way out of the tired straw confines, paying no mind to how the cream and gold colored threads snap and the tines scatter as he nearly explodes out of the coiled shape. He finds his feet swiftly, up to his hocks in soft, damp grass, sharp curving claws digging into the earth. He shakes from nose to tail, ears pinned back as he straightens and bares his teeth. First, his kin, then.

The Third is the darkest of them all, night-touched and sure to be lethal in the dark. There may be a hint of cream toward the bottom of the basket, but the dark one is different from The First or the still-slumbering Second. A different pattern, perhaps a smaller shape. Younger, weaker, slower.

Not for much longer.

He grins and leaps on it, tearing into the tines with a joyous, lethal snarl. Alive, but not for much longer.

"Goodbye, Sister."

Harm's Way Wordcount: 339  

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

The Second escapes his basket while the First is tearing into the confines that protect their sister. He frees himself from the clinging reeds and pounces without hesitation, tumbling the first away just as the basket splits open and the Third tumbles into the weak morning sunshine. She seems dazed for a moment, blinking wide eyes at the snarling coil of her siblings before she finds her paws and sprints toward the woods. Her dark coat will help her hide in the shadows if she can find them, and it seems she feels discretion is the better part of valor.

She has decided to let her brothers kill each other, likely she would rather take on whichever survives. The First snarls as his prey escapes and the Second sinks teeth into his ear to distract him, growling when it earns him a swipe of claws over his shoulder. The Third is forgotten, only this matters.

Survival. There is a tang on his tongue and deep scarlet blood on his muzzle from the wound he gave his sibling, similar crimson oozing from his shoulder from his own injury. The First shakes him off and he tumbles away, fighting to get to his paws before the other is on him, but heartbeats too late.

The First is on him, and there are cool sharp claws cutting paths of fire across his vulnerable throat. The Second flails with it, snarling weakly as his vision goes spotty. He can see the blood splashed cream of his brother's pelt, the red gleaming on gold as he slumps into the thick grass.

'No.' He thinks with a growl. 'This is not the end... I will not let this be the end.'

Death's Door Wordcount: 285  

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

The First snarls over the fallen body of the Second, waiting for the shades of silver and charcoal colt-cub to rise to his paws again. Blood flows sluggishly from his shoulder wound, seeping more swiftly from the lines cut into his throat just below his jaw, more red staining his muzzle from when he savaged the Firsts's ear.

"A good fight," He sneers. "But not good enough."

Refusing to waste further time on carrion, he spins away and launches himself into the woods, seeking the scent of terror and determination. The Third is still out there, afraid and possibly wounded. He will not let her survive.

"Where are you, sister?" He wonders as he hunts. "Why don't you return to me?"

After he bloods his second sibling, there will be no one standing in his way. And he will be free to fall upon the lands, like a young god rising.

He cannot wait to earn a name for himself... He cannot wait to find the perfect prey, for their fear.

Harm's Way Wordcount: 171  

[~Latonia de la Courtel~]

It's nightfall before the Second stirs, stiff from the fight and coat stiff with dried blood. The killing blow at his throat fell a little short, unpracticed and dealt with short claws. He struggles to sit up, grinning in spite of the pain. So then, another chance. Not yet, but soon. His kin have vanished into the woods and soon he will hunt them down, see what became of the Third, set his sights on destroying the First.

But first, a bath and a drink... and perhaps something smaller to eat, to gain strength for the hunt that lies ahead. Revenge.

Not yet, but soon.

Death's Door Wordcount: 105