πκππ's Den
WELCOME
In the heart of a land long forgotten by the sun, where the sky forever broods under a veil of iron-gray clouds and the earth breathes a slow, corrupted sigh, there prowls a creature out of ancient legend and darker prophecy. A massive black sabertoothed lion, twice the size of any natural beast, moves silently through this cursed realm. His fur is like soot-stained midnight, clinging to the hulking frame of a predator forged in nightmare. Muscles ripple beneath the coarse sheen of his hide with every deliberate step, each step muffled by the ever-churning mist that coils at his feet like ghostly serpents.
The land itself recoils from his presence. Trees once mighty and proud now stand as skeletal husks, their bark blackened and cracked like old obsidian, their limbs clawing desperately at the lifeless air. No leaves grow here, no birds sing, no wind stirs. The silence is thick and expectant, broken only by the deep, rhythmic sound of the lionβs breathβslow and low, like a distant war drum echoing through the mist.
His eyes are the color of cool lavender, fierce and ancient, glowing faintly beneath the jagged crown of his brow. They have seen kingdoms rise and fall, watched the stars shift and the seas rot. There is wisdom in those eyes, but it is the kind of wisdom steeped in sorrow and violence, borne of endless wandering through a world that has forgotten what hope once felt like.
And always, always, there are the ravens.
Two enormous black birds, glossy as wet ink, shadow his every step. They never caw, never cry. Their wings are silent, slicing through the mist like blades, their eyes twin voids that drink in the dying light. They are not mere animalsβsomething dwells within them, something ancient and bound to the lion. They perch on twisted branches as he passes, or circle above him in wide, solemn arcs. Some say they are his sentinels. Others whisper they are his jailers.
None dare approach him. The very ground shivers where he walks. It is said the curse of the land is bound to him, or perhaps he is its enforcerβits sentinelβdestined to roam until the last ash settles, until the last name is forgotten. Where his shadow falls, rot blooms. Where his gaze lingers, memory flees.
He does not roar. There is no need. The silence of the cursed land is his voice, and it speaks volumes.
Once, long ago, he may have been a king, or perhaps a guardian spirit of an ancient forest now reduced to this graveyard of blackened trunks. But now he walks alone, a ghost wrapped in flesh, with the mists licking at his paws and the ravens keeping eternal watch.
He is the last god of a dying world. And his vigil is not yet done.
Base by: purplepuppymomo
This den has 2 lions that may leave soon due to their low moods or starvation!
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πκππ's Player
Member ID #4628
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InkedinSage 8x Dawn Enniade
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1 Pregnant Lioness
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It will cost 20 energy to attack this lion.
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| πκππ's Recent Allies | ||
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played by King Level 7 - 29 lionesses - 12 cubs Send Message |
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Flamingos and lions |
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