#[ ooc ] // “may your belly be full when the rains come; may each cycle end in peaceful slumber.”

[hymns-across-the-stars]

Artificer. I don't give a shit how sorry you feel for yourself. This will never bring back the countless innocents you slaughtered or restore the civilization you destroyed. I pray that the rest of your cycles are full of misery and that you will never find a semblance of peace.

Her wounded leg scrapes roughly against the floor as she limps toward the prone form of the Scavenger King. Blood drips freely from countless cuts and scrapes. But no matter how much it burns, how much smoke she coughs up, how long it takes, victory is hers. He can't even pick himself back up; all he can do is glare at her as she slowly approaches. That could never be enough dissuade her. Not even hearing her title gives her pause.

But she barks a laugh. Scavengers? Innocent?

Killed only the ones responsible, first. Was that so wrong?

They were almost like kin to her once, after all. Cycles upon cycles of trade and hibernation and hunts alongside each other does not break so easy. But she was angry—she is still angry—and a price had to be paid when she woke up the next cycle without her children.

Then, when more rushed to the aid of pup-killers... came to kill me... was defense wrong?

She stumbles, but the snarl never falters from her face as she steps up to where he lay.

Saw all were complicit.

The king tries to move away from her. She steps on his chest to keep him from moving.

Was too much? Too far? Her lip curls with contempt. What about killing little ones for just being curious? If a pearl and my pups' lives equal to you, theirs is worth all yours to me.

She leans in, muzzle brushing against the King's ear as she hisses.

So pray for my suffering. Pray harder. But may your kin never again know of full bellies and peaceful slumber, either.

The Artificer's ear flicks as she pulls back and finally drives the spear into the Scavenger King's chest.