Pride Name: Owboklia Pride

Biome: A marshy swamp with a dried ravine at the heart of the land. Faint traces of chemicals left by humans long ago taint the center, but the swamp surrounding grows wild. Remnants of the people that once lived there can occasionally be found, but not a single bone or body. The center is also eeriely free of insects, certainly because of the lingering smell. There is virtually no threat of humans here, nor are there any other annoying pests like ants, termites, and fleas. What does lurk is far more subtle; illness and the mosquitos and leeches that carry them. It plagues every cub birth and is the risk of every hunt. Beyond them are more threats; venomous snakes, cub-hungry constrictors, crocodiles, hyenas, bold and large cub eating birds, hippos and buffalo, but one of the few respites is it's predictably; the majority of the creatures stick to specific more large and defined bodies of water that borders the territory. They practically radiate with danger symbols and outside of the highly skilled hunting parties, are avoided. In addition, they have pretty amicable relationships with the hyenas of the area. They are more comfortable hunting in the waters than the pride is, and thus there is very little hunting overlap. The pride patches up their ill and injured few at the boarders of the territory from time to time and the hyenas act as a border for other dangers.

History: The pride was founded by Sidifur; a stocky, black and gold lion with a silvered mane and sunny eyes. He had been chased from his pride when he was young and formed a coalition, which fell to an unspeakable tragedy. Not too long after, the now lone Sidifur found himself targeted by humans and took shelter in the only lands they wouldn't follow him. He eventually extended help out to other lions being harassed by humans, and a pride was formed.


King: The Owboklia Pride is still young, and Sidifur is the first and only king. With a headstrong daughter and a young granddaughter who seems to replicate her perfectly, an heir is bound to be born sooner than later. It is said that once the Owboklia learned the language of their land, they were able to navigate the more dangerous parts. While Sidifur was observing the crocodile invested waterholes, he had noticed something. Crocodiles resting atop each other as they slept, or smaller ones riding on the top of larger ones as they swam among other things. There was familiarity in their actions, and awakened a longing for times it reminds him of. He founded the Coalition of the Crocodile to reach out to other prides in not-so-fair conditions and build communities.


Mythos:
-Frogs are sacred. They have the power to restore the quality of the land they rest in. Their song lets you know that an area is safe from sickness and venomous snakes. Any place they thrive in, you can as well. If you move a frog to an area of water and it dies, something is wrong with it. Never hunt frogs, and try avoiding aggravating them when possible. Some frogs have the ability to curse those who come in contact with them. There are legends of a King of Frogs; large enough to swallow a lion whole and drag them into the lakes.

-Tales of doppelgangers in your reflection with features just off enough for you to look closer so they can reach out and pull you in. Tales of seeing loved ones who have passed swimming in the dangerous waters to lure you into them. Tales of special "lions" that live in the dark spots of the waters. Benthos is evidence that at the very least, the last one is true.

-A creature that looks like a hyena at first glance. Heyenas will always greet you with a lowered head, but this one has it's head held high. It is a false head, and it's mouth blends in with it's chest. It surprises you and bites your neck with corrosive saliva.

-When hunting in especially dangerous waters, the huntresses first cake themselves in mud and clay to defend against more subtle threats. It takes meticulous cleaning and assistance to clear it off, but it also takes shedded fur with it. The clumps of fur, mud, and clay are often affixed into charms for the huntress. When the huntress retires, the charms are melted down and fused into a necklace or mask for the lioness to wear.


Holidays: None quite yet! They are still very new.

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Pride Name: The Torrential Border

Biome: Humidity chokes the wildlife as aggressively as the sprawling roots and vines. Trees stretch into the sky, eating the sun itself as this jungle is in a near permanent state of twilight. Occasionally, the leaves are violently pushed aside by the skies itself: droplets the size of pebbles tearing their way to the soil, pulverising any unfortunate insect still above ground. Some say this is divine punishment for the jungle's greed for sunlight, others say its a blessing, feeding new life to these devouring stalks.

The only place free of the suffocating air is the coast, bringing in salty air and thinning out the jungle's stagnant gusts. Though here, the downpour is only more violent. Without leaves to pummel, the rainfall will leave your skin raw and frigid, demanding you kneel to the skies below washed up hollowed logs.

History: Due to the hostile nature of this habitat, only recently had a pride migrated here, lead by a blind lion. Despite the clouded eyes, he was fully capable of navigating the tripping hazards. The eternal dusk hadn't disturbed him at all- perhaps a blessing in disguise. Taking purchase in a large cave, the pride dwells inside, standing on boulders when the volatile rains come to flood their home.

King: Peculiarly, the current leader is rather petite in comparison to most. He appears no larger than a simple adolescent, perhaps a result of malnutrition from a previous pride as punishment for his disability. His eyes are washed over with clouds and mist, obscuring his pupils, entirely blind. Deep azure and henna curls form as a mane, rather atypical for any lion. His fur appears to be rippling waves under shaded lilypads, beautiful blues and oranges as if reflecting sunlight. Perhaps the clouded eyes and petite frame had been cursed upon him by primal ancestors.

Mythos: Those who are born blind are held to a higher power than those with sight: for if they survive to adulthood, surely they are blessed by the god of the torrents. They are given only choice cuts, and donned in similar vibrant fabrics of their king.

Occasionally, the king sires a cub with the same curly mane. Though this comes with a different set of traits: overgrown fur, large teeth and stubby tails. These children of his grow to be enormous, nearly twice his size. Chasing Wind chalks this up to being a gift from Torrent.

Holidays: Weekly, Chasing Wind will gnaw on Dream Roots, then fall into a deep slumber, one that he may or may not awake from. Each time he rises from the virid leaves, he recalls dreams detailing of lions in the skies, formed into constellations, calling them a "dynasty". Of course- this is insanity. There is no such thing as a dynasty.

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