𝕬𝖇𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖔𝖓's Den

Pride lore is made by the amazingly talented: Alexa #148571

"When they tell the stories of kings and prides, they speak of heroic tales and bravery to be admired and remembered for generations to come.

But not this pride. The heart of this pride is merciless, uncaring toward the weak and favoring only the strong, whose right it is to rule. This pride holds secrets and traditions that would make the heavens wince and fiercest predators hesitate.

Here lives a vicious cycle of death and destruction. It was a cycle started many years ago by the first king, who killed his brother and cubs to secure his domain. He took many wives and became a king to be feared. No one could stop him, or rival his seemingly endless power, except for his son. And so it began.

Many years later

This time, when they speak of King Jörmungandr, they speak of horror and hate.
A king with a blood soaked mane, he did not earn his throne through any admirable act. No, he used the one thing he could rely on: his raw, unrestrained power. It was the one thing in this world that would never betray him.

Just as the previous king did to his, King Jörmungandr, under the cover of black night and the watchful eyes of the stars, snuck into his father’s territory as he unknowingly slumbered on his deathbed.

His father sprang awake once he felt Jörmungandr’s unmovable fist clenching down on his throat, but it was too late by that point.

It was time for the new king to claim his throne.

Slowly, deliberately, Jörmungandr slid his merciless claws across the neck of his father and watched as Kovan’s blood, blood that pumped through his own veins too, poured from his throat. There was no rush to the slaughter. It was an art, one that must be appreciated and observed.

Kovan, having slain his own father as well, stopped himself from struggling in vain. Jörmungandr had earned this right by surpassing his father in strength. He was destined to kill his flesh and blood from the moment he was born.

Still, Kovan gritted his teeth and spat blood in Jörmungandr’s hair, already so blood stained that it was barely noticeable, “Celebrate your victory while you can, lion, for one day this will be you, looking up into the eyes of the son you raised, as he squeezes the life from your neck.” With those parting words from father to son, the once feared Kovan closed his eyes and let go of this world.

Without waiting for the lion’s body to become cold, Jörmungandr released Kovan’s neck and brutally plunged his claws into the unmoving chest. He relished in the feeling of his father’s blood coating his skin like armor.

Grabbing onto his prize, Jörmungandr wrenched his claw from his father’s chest, taking along with it his newly stopped heart. With disdain, the son threw it to the ground, stomping it into the dirt.

Once the deed was done, there was a heavy moment of silence. It was not one of remorse, for this was his birthright, but it was one of calmness as Jörmungandr embraced his title of King. King. King of the Pride, kinslayer. His old identity had died, and now he settles into the skin of a new one, a new path.

Even so, there was much to be done. His mother, Xena, stood in the way of him being accepted as King by the rest of the pride. She was not by Kovan’s side as he was defeated, so she must have been hunting late at night, as she often did.

Using the darkness as his accomplice, the newly crowned King Jörmungandr hid in the thick underbrush and waited for his mother to return home.

Whether he waited for minutes or hours, he was unsure. The world seemed different to him, now that his father was no more. Time seemed an unimportant detail, and the stars above gave no answers.

Soon enough, his mother’s blood soaked body came into view. It must have been a successful hunt that night. It was ironic, Jörmungandr thought, that the hunter would soon become the hunted.

Crouching low to the ground, Jörmungandr waited for Xena to happen upon the body of her beloved, the late king. It might have been easier for the new king to kill his mother before she became suspicious, but he could not resist the urge to see the war hardened lioness witness the state that her once mighty king had been reduced to, a bloody, heartless mess.

Once he heard his mother's pained, agonized scream, Jörmungandr calmly walked over to stand by his father's body. Xena stared at him as if he were a stranger, but even she was all too familiar with the customs of this pride.

As she lunged at him, Jörmungandr stood silent, letting her make the first move. As soon as she raised a claw to his body, though, the son, quicker than Xena could detect, pounced on her, biting in her throat, spilling her blood just as he had to his father. It was a touching family reunion.

Not a word was exchanged between mother and son, and the queen died as the first signs of sunrise appeared on the horizon.

A new day, a new king.

Soon, night will come again. The sun will vanish over the towering mountains, and the apathetic stars will emerge to witness destiny."

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