Lady Of Sorrows, Dona Morte's Den

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⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
Skullbind Pride “If it bleeds, it can scream—and we like the sound of both.”
⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
They were not born from tradition. They were forged in storms, in snarls, in the splatter of blood against jagged stone. The Skullbind Pride does not bow to the old ways—they annihilated them and built their own gospel from bone.

This is not a pride.
This is a purge with paws.

They are violent. Gory. Sadistic. Known for trophying their kills, adorning their dens and their bodies with the remains of the fallen. Outsiders are torn apart without ceremony. Humans are not feared—they are prey. And adolescent lions? They are hunted for sport. Punished until nothing remains but twitching pain and the lesson that weakness is a sin.

Each lion in Skullbind has earned their place. Not through bloodlines—but through blood spilled.

The Matriarch: Queen Sarkana
Sarkana is the spine of Skullbind, the first fang, the last growl. She clawed her way into power and made the world watch. Every scar on her pelt is a signature written by the dying. She does not rule with affection or compromise—only with command and carnage. Those who question her vanish. Those who please her live a little longer.

To the pride, she is mother, goddess, executioner.
To the world, she is a curse wearing a crown.

The Consort: Rhazien
Cold, commanding, and unapologetically cruel—Rhazien is not a lion who shares. He belongs to Sarkana, and Sarkana belongs to him, in a way that no other dares test. He patrols the pride like a coiled serpent, snapping discipline into cubs, sinking teeth into traitors. His protectiveness is suffocating, and his loyalty to Sarkana has turned lethal more than once.

He is not romantic.
He is a shield with claws. And he enjoys the cracking sound of bones.

The Bloodwaltz: Ravaka
She kills for the thrill of it. For the art of it. For the sound it makes when bone snaps just right. Ravaka is a lioness who no longer believes in family, only flesh and frenzy. Her claws move with elegance, her kills are fluid and balletic. She is a bloodstained dancer, a hunter who grins while flaying, who laughs while disemboweling.

She once had a daughter.
Now, she just has another chew toy.

The Bone-Bitten: Vexa
Born to Ravaka but raised by pain. Vexa is the battered cub that refuses to die. The pride uses her for target practice, for dominance displays, for anything they need to break. But she endures. Every bruise is a lesson. Every scar, a silent scream she’s learned to swallow.

They call her weak.
But weakness doesn’t smolder the way her eyes do.
Something is growing inside Vexa. And one day, it will burn the world that tried to bury her.

The Blue-Eyed Bane: Namira
Namira does not posture. She doesn’t need to. You know she can kill you—she’s simply choosing not to. Yet. She is calm, disarmingly soft-spoken, and eerily graceful. Her eyes, pale and piercing, have watched countless lives end—and none of them haunted her.

She is the daughter of Sekekama, the Hyena Killer, and she has perfected the legacy.

The hyena she lays at her paws? Not prey. Not victim.
That is a warning.

Skullbind Culture & Law
• Trophy Rituals – Bones, skulls, teeth, and even skins are preserved and displayed. Every major kill is marked and honored in the Blackmaw.

• The Trial of Claws – Adolescents must survive a ritual ambush by older members. If they live, they earn a name. If they fail, they decorate the den.

• Humans Are Hunted – It’s not vengeance. It’s sport. Every human in their land is a target. The message is always the same: You do not belong here. Leave bones behind.

• No Cubs Are Safe – There is no protection, no coddling. Cubs are raised by claw, by tooth, by fear. They grow fast or they don’t grow at all.

• Blood Begets Rank – Only those who spill blood earn standing. Challenges for position are settled in tooth and fury. Kill or be cast out.

Territory: The Stormlands and The Blackmaw
Skullbind’s territory is a kingdom of thunder—skies eternally bruised, rain that hisses like warning breaths. The earth is slick with mud and blood. Lightning cracks open the heavens nightly, casting twisted shadows over twisted rituals.

At its center lies The Blackmaw, the pride’s main den. It is a yawning cave shaped like a beast mid-roar, its entrance lined with skulls—lion, hyena, elephant, human. Inside, the scent of death never fades. It is always raining here. And it is always watching.

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
Skullbind is not a home. It is a crucible. It burns the weak and praises the cruel.
⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧