Lovely Stormborn Ladies & Nasty Stormborn Insults (winners!)

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

These lions are members of the Myrsky Syntynyt pride (which the banner above links to).

Start Time: Now
End Time: 16 February 11pm EST

 

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

The Contest

In this contest you will be competing for one of two third-generation thrall sisters (the third, Utulien, is owned by Princess_Feylin and considered the brawn of the litter). These three sisters are the daughter of a female thrall named Nionwen and an unknown reaver and at present none of them have a particular owner. That will have changed by the end of this contest, for the winner of the flyting will gain IC ownership of one sister.

The winner of this contest must give their lioness an Elven name because it is a family tradition to name female cubs for ancestors, which means the naming pool is somewhat limited by the family's limited knowledge of their own ancestry and names are frequently re-used from one generation to the next. For example, Utulien is named for an aunt and Nionwen was named for her mother.

These lionesses may not leave the pride, even if their IC owner does. Should their IC owner leave, they will become an ownerless thrall once again. If the prize is not posted for certing within a month of winning, it may be re-homed.  

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

Part 1: The Flyting

A flyting is a ritual, poetic exchange of insults. The exchanges would become extremely provocative, often involving accusations of cowardice or sexual perversion and invoking historical or legendary figures for comparative purposes. Flytings can occur as a precursor to battle or, for entertainment's sake, at a feast. In the latter case, the winner would be decided by the reactions of those watching the exchange. The winner would drink a large cup of beer or mead in victory, then invite the loser to drink as well.

In the Stormborn flytings are much the same. They are formal or informal contests between wordsmiths (or would-be wordsmiths) to see who can come up with the most blistering, cleverly worded insults toward the other party. The victor, however, is more likely to enjoy a nice sprig of cat mint than a cup of beer or mead, however, since they are lions.

How It Works

• Pick one (or more) of your Stormborn, fill out a form, and post it in this thread.
  
• If there is another Stormborn with a filled out form above yours, come up with a creative insult for them and post it, making clear who is being insulted.
  
• This will go on until the end of the contest, at which point I will announce a winner. The winner may be chosen based on creativity, vileness, research done on the insultee, prolonged volleys between lions, or any other criteria. I'll probably let the winner know why they won when I post who it is.

Rules

• You must have a Stormborn to enter, though it can be any age or rank.
  
• You may put as many of your Stormborn into the contest as you want and post as many times as you like (without double posting) until the contest ends.
  
• You must post the form every time your Stormborn insults someone else.
  
• You may only insult the Stormborn above yours or a Stormborn who has insulted the Stormborn you're posting with. No randomly flung insults.
  
• Your Stormborn may also respond to insults directed at them, but they must insult the lion above them.
  
• The form has information you can use about the lion you're insulting as well as information you cannot use. Make sure you follow that. If swearing is not marked OK, use something else.
  
• Understand that you are not being insulted. Your character is, but it is for entertainment purposes. Insults directed at players will make me very, very unhappy and everyone will lose.
  
• The thrall you're winning is considered the brains of the litter. Just FYI.

The Form

[size=17][color=limegreen]@#$![/color][/size]
[size=11]Your Stormborn's insult(s) go here. Remember to make it clear who is being insulted. Ideally it should be in roleplay form so that some interaction can take place.[/size]
[quote="Your Stormborn's name goes here"][imgleft]CERTED STORMBORN PIC GOES HERE[/imgleft][b]Name Meaning:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b] (in three separate adjectives)
[b]Notable Failures/Weaknesses/Fears:[/b] (ones that the pride might know about)
[b]Swearing OK?[/b] yes/no
[b]No-nos:[/b](things other pride members wouldn't know, topics you consider off-limits OOC)
[b]Anything else?[/b] (Anything you think people should know about this character. Do they have a runny nose or a slutty sister?)[/quote]

Q&A

• So we can use dirty language in the flyting?
  Yeeesss.... But nothing hardcore or likely to go against the ToS. Creative application of non-profanity will be better received, in general. Use your own discretion and err on the side of caution.
  
  
• Won't people get offended?
  ICly, it's a possibility, given the nature of the contest, but when it is for entertainment, as this particular flyting is, the competitors are not generally going to be enemies. They are trying to impress the crowd more than their opponent, in truth. OOC, I certainly people won't be offended, but if you're unsure about saying a thing, again use your own discretion and err on the side of caution.
  
  
• So, only people who already own a Stormborn can compete?
  In this portion of the contest, I'm afraid so. But take heart! There's another part of the contest that's open to everyone.
  
  
• Can a thrall insult a freeborn in this contest?
  Yes. But keep in mind the possibility of IC consequences later on.
  
  
• Can I include things about that character from RPs or their description in the joining thread?
  As long as it isn't marked as a no-no, go ahead. But if it's some deep, dark secret, keep in mind that your character probably wouldn't know it.
  
  
• This looks fun, but I don't want that lioness. Can I just have my lion insult people?
  Um. I guess? Just post the form and indicate somewhere that you don't want to be considered.

 

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

Part 2: The Legend

The Stormborn tell many tales about their history. Some of them are about the gods that spawned the first Stormborn, others about mighty reavers and captains of the past. Or clever thralls or especially wise lawspeakers, or powerful priestesses. Warlords, fierce and weak are always popular topics. Or, of course, there are tales of love, battle, love and battle, love in battle, battles in love, the glory of mint. Basically, the Stormborn love to tell stories about themselves, and the best stories become part of the pride's mythos, passed on from generation to generation

How It Works
Come up with an original story/saga/ballad/history for the pride. Or several. That's fine, too. It can be on any subject, of any length, and in any format. The best of them will be added to the pride's About section, and the very best will win its creator the thrall above.

Rules

• You needn't have a Stormborn to enter, since you're just coming up with one of the pride's legends.
  
• You may submit as many stories/ballads/histories as you wish, but you must designate one of them to be considered for judging.
  
• You must be willing for any entry to this contest to be potentially added to the Stormborn's collection, even if it's not the winning entry.
  
• You may write about Stormborn that are currently alive, too, but make sure you get permission from their owner and don't include information that wouldn't be widely known.
  
• It is perfectly all right to make up characters and events in the pride's history for this.
  
• On a similar note, it's permissible to come up with untrue things about someone, like a song lampooning an unpopular priestess and claiming that she has the hots for hyenas or something.
  
• For people who submit multiple things, Fey will only judge one of them, so make sure you make it very clear which one you want her to judge.
  
• The thrall you're winning is considered the beauty of the litter. Just FYI.

The Form

[size=17][color=navy]Mi mi mi miiii![/color][/size]
[size=11]Your entry goes here. Please shrink the font if it's very long.[/size]

Q&A

• We can make things up?
  Yes. This is partly about fleshing out the pride's history, so if Fey likes it, she'll incorporate it into the pride's history.
  
  
• So even if I don't win, Fey might make my entry part of the pride's information and all?
  Yep. That's the idea. Fey's a lazy bum.
  
  
• What if I don't want my entry made into part of the pride's history?
  Then say so, I guess. But why wouldn't you?
  
  
• Can I win if Fey wants to include a submission that I didn't mark for judging?
  Nope, sorry.
  
  
• So, only people who already own a Stormborn can compete?
  No, that's the first portion. This one is for everyone.
  
  
• This looks fun, but I don't want that lioness. Can I just make up stories?
  Um. I guess? Just post the form and indicate somewhere that you don't want to be considered.

 

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

Entries

TanuKyle|link
Talencia|link
Andranis|link

 

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

One more for emergencies and we're open for business. People may start posting as of now.  

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

@#$!
Tuomas sighed as he stood in front of the crowd of lions and declared the flyting begun with the traditional opening salvo, "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries."

It had fallen to him to open the contest this season, instead of the first speaker. Probably it was punishment for acquiring a cub and then claiming that it was a cub returned by the gods. A so-called ghostborn cub. It was a little-used loophole in the pride that allowed him to name someone freeborn without claiming them as kin or actually adopting them.

Tuomas

Name Meaning: It's a form of Thomas, so..."twin" I guess?
Personality: intelligent, non-combative, broody
Notable Failures/Weaknesses/Fears: not much of a fighter, known supporter of Aesir's, recently acquired a cub out of nowhere, almost never seen in or near water
Swearing OK? yes
No-nos: his recently acquired cub is Aesir's, he helped Aesir's family get out of the pride when Njal won his challenge
Anything else? Tomi was born an outlander and captured in a raid as a young adolescent, but adopted and raised to be a lawspeaker by another lawspeaker. Don't consider my entries. Or Fey's. Fey smells.

 

[Split Personality]

@#$!
Morath simply chuckled to herself and cast a glance back at her thrall. "He certainly knows my father well..." She said simply, shrugging her shoulders and looking a bit amused.
She then looked to Tuomas. "Seems odd a lion whom speaks of lineage when a child so easily became ones own; despite any proof of its birth. A god given child; heh. More like a guise for something else. One mussn't claim themselves a god. More like a hamster than you know."

Morath

Name Meaning: A mix of her mothers and brothers name.
Personality: Proud. Jealous. Protective.
Notable Failures/Weaknesses/Fears: She has a thrall brother; whom she babies.He is a hybrid. x
Swearing OK? yes
No-nos: Her jealousy of her sisters and her hatred of her father.
Anything else? He brother was born outside the pride and was told to follow Morath into the pride with her father; and to protect her.

**not sure if that was in any way insulting. xD  

[Annchen]

@#$!
Bifrost would rather die in bed than miss a flyting. He had never been shy about insulting others, and he loved to take the center stage. If all went well some fighting might even break out! The bard was groomed to perfection and for the last hour or so he'd warmed up his voice with various vocal exercises and practice songs. His neighbors had either moved or learned to live with the daily noise pollution by now.

He noted with some disappointment that Tuomas was the Lawspeaker opening the event. So much for the insulting poem he had prepared for the First Speaker... He could adapt it to fit the younger male, but he'd rather save it on the off chance the First Speaker would enter the fray. But before he'd come up with a suitable replacement aimed at the Lawspeaker one of the priestesses spoke up.

Not bad, for a priestess. He opted for a fairly standard insult to get warmed up. It was more fun to come up with a rhyme or song to deliver it with, but he wasn't going to let anyone snag his victim again before he could come up with the right words.

"Morath," he called, "Speaking of relations... Is it true that your thrall is a brother of yours? Did Taraxa get it on with a leopardess or does your mother simply have lousy taste in 'males'?"

Even if the rumors weren't true that should hopefully ruffle some feathers. Bifrost normally stayed away from messing with Priestesses on the off chance an insulted one would put a curse on him or something like that. But in a flyting anyone was fair game.

.

Bifrost

Name Meaning: The bridge in the sky... So the rainbow or possibly the milky way depending on how you see it.
Personality: Nosy, loud, drama-magnet
Notable Failures/Weaknesses/Fears: Didn't follow in his father's footsteps (father was a Lawspeaker, Bifrost is a bard). Sleeps around... Has a boring older brother who's a Lawspeaker. Has never been on a raid.
Swearing OK? Yes, but creative insults are better biggrin
No-nos: The plots in my plot thread since most of those haven't started to happen yet.
Anything else? He doesn't like being called a coward for being a stay-at-home bard, and he's been in many Holmgangs to defend his honor.

 

[Princess_Feylin]

@#$!
Solvtorn was ready for this flyting. Oh, gods was he ready. He had been putting up with Alehandra's pregnant moodiness for far too long, in his opinion. That lioness was absolutely insane. She kept demanding that he spend time with her and help her make a den. And all sorts of things that he had no interest in doing. When this flyting had been announced, Solv had so much bile stored up that he couldn't wait to unleash it on someone.

Already he had let several opportunities pass him by with Tuomas and Morath, but then it was as if the Stormlords favored him because now he could say something about Bifrost. And there was really a lot of fodder there. A lion didn't even have to be quick on his feet, mentally speaking, that is. It helped, of course, that Solv resented Bifrost for holding a bard's title officially, when he, Solvtorn, did not. There were already less-than-flattering thoughts in his head on the subject.

He cleared his throat and hastily composed a rhyming ditty about Bifrost: "He's named for a bridge in the sky/But really one must wonder why/His past's not so great/He's got no future mate/Which makes that whole bridge thing a lie."

Okay, so it wasn't brilliant, but he was trying to work with the idea that bridges went to and from somewhere, and Bifrost might as well have come from nowhere and was clearly going nowhere. Maybe that hadn't come through very well though, now that Solv thought about it. Oh well. He had been the first lion to put his words into verse, at least.

Solvtorn

Name Meaning: silver thorn
Personality: Antagonistic. Touchy. "Suave."
Notable Failures/Weaknesses/Fears: Never wins fights. Went viking once and impressed no one. Prone to drunkenness. Tends to let his friend Gunnar do his fighting for him.
Swearing OK? Swearing's fine, but creative insults are better. wink
No-nos: He once had a drunken one-night stand with another male.
Anything else? He's going to be having cubs with an outlander born lioness, Alehandra. He fancies himself a bard but he does not have the official title, and most of the songs he comes up with are best called doggerel.

No prizes for me.

 

[Jovi of Shadows]

@#$!
Perhaps he shouldn't have had any n** before this event, but in truth it was hard to give up old habits cold-turkey, and it helped to steady his mind. Or so he believed, anyway. The large lion swayed slightly on his paws, shifting his weight off his injured leg as he listened to the opening insults. Some made him chortle out loud, others he mumbled at for being too long and flowery for him to understand. However, the last straw was Solvtorn's prose. How hard could it be to use simple, easy to understand words? What kind of flyting was this?

"Auurgh!" Magnus finally huffed, stamping a fore-paw into the hard earth. "You!" he nearly belched out, the smell of mint and n** strong on his breath as he thrust a paw accusingly towards Solvtorn. "Thorn in my side! Fights like a fool, flowers for balls, dumbshitbrains!" That last part ran together as Magnus was having a hard time keeping his mind focused before just giving up and letting the insults spew from his tongue. "Ain't you got no sense for flyting? Ever'one's sappose to understand watch ya say!" he was really starting to feel that n** now. Heh. His tongue felt fuzzy!

Magnus

Name Meaning: His name literally means Fighter.
Personality: Boastful, forward, and rowdy.
Notable Failures/Weaknesses/Fears: Old reaver past his prime turned freeborn, old raiding injury to his hind leg slows him down and prevents him from brawling too heavily, and in recent years has become a heavy and obnoxious drunk. Also, very, very recently, has married Gala.
Swearing OK? Hell yes! Get this old drunkard riled!
No-nos: His best friend (Thokk's father) from back in his hay day died raiding, and his wife (Thokk's mother) committed suicide right after. Any mention of this will likely be an automatic homlgang and Magnus rage-quitting the flyting.
Anything else? Gala is also an older lion like Magnus, and the two were very close in their younger years. She also enjoys singing, but does not call herself a bard.

 

[T-Kai]

Mi mi mi miiii!
A love ballad for VIKINGS!


Once there lived a captain brave and bold,
her fur turned red with blood and her mane gone victory's gold.
With each pawstep she would take, the very earth would shake,
From youth she'd be strong, but now she was old.

Thunder and lightning struck the sky,
Why, the great lioness called, why?
My eyes are weak, my paws gone numb - what is it I have not done?
I've fought for your honour since days gone bye

And so she had, fought in the gods name
And in her old age, she wanted not her fame
but the rest of Valhalla, not thrall or feast or great golden gala,
But nought would fight her, to her shame.

And so she took herself on one last escape,
To fight and hopefully die with grace -
And yet still she kept going on, her part in the tale not yet done
for strong and powerful she was, epitome of her race

But one thing she had never found,
for all the flesh she'd struck and pound,
the matters of the heart lay a mystery to our captain fair, and there, yes there
the gods an exception found.

For what good is blood of iron and steel,
If softness you can't also feel.
A duty of stormborn is to fight, but to love is another right,
No good is strength not brought to heel.

Her steps grew shaky, her legs grew weak,
but not from age; no from a peek.
For the gods had mirth and this is what they'd done ; made her fall for the warleader's son.
When she tried to talk, only a squeak.

But the son had no respect for age or power,
chased young pretty girls hour after hour,
and so our Captain stalwart and brave, became sad ; her hearts slave.
Where previously she'd roar, now only cower...

But did she fall, or should she fight?
This is her query to herself one night...
And so she set out on a quest ; to prove herself his best!
To prove herself to another was her right!

And so they set out on Viking long,
the young one proud to be part of her song!
Little did they suspect or know ; the gods looked down, faces aglow!
She fought bravely, did little wrong.

He fought bravely but with skill less,
she shielded him from attacks to his chest.
And in this fighting; seeing her defend, well the son's ways began to end.
He began to feel something deep in his breast.

What was this, he spoke to himself
She was no young maiden to put on a shelf
She was a Captain, strong but old ; she wouldn't be interested, himself he told.
But still his heart began to swell.

And so the lovers, not young but true,
Began to court each other, slowly in this territory new.
Blood they spilt, fights they won, this was the way they flirted;had fun.
They returned from viking man and saltwife, eyes bright and blue.

But she was old and fading fast,
cubs she bore but she wasn't going to last;
So in the most romantic thing to have done ; the son fought her and to his sadness won.
As her blood spilt, he wished he were the one to have passed.

But she fought and bred and love too well,
and so in Valhalla she will dwell.
So take this song as eternal truth, see their tale as proof.
Fight, Love, tell all you do to the heavens in a yell;

for a complete life you must give to the viking way
if you too wish for Valhalla your soul to stay.



 

[Myrsky Syntynyt]

Updated.  

[Talencia]

Mi mi mi miiii!
The Traveler

I tell the tale of Resenar, the traveler, who did the unthinkable. Its beginning was not meant to be a beginning at all, but was fortuitous for the bold lion. Who is to say that the gods did not deem him worthy of such an adventure? It was most remarkable how a Stormborn of great courage ended up adrift upon the sea, clinging to life and a log. He fought off fish more than five times his size, marked with black and white as if the light and dark had come together to form this monster. Though it had sharp teeth and a powerful tail, it did not prevail against or forebear, but fell victim to mortal fangs and claws. But the fight left him without his log, in the midst of the trackless sea.

But what should he behold, but a sight that set his fur standing on end! Between the swells of salty water, he saw an upright form, looking as if it strode upon the surface as he might walk upon solid ground! Undaunted, he swam towards this strange creature, only to find it did not walk upon the water, but floated upon a curved piece of wood! Determined that this lifesaving device was to be his, Resenar closed in for the kill. Surprised at how easy it was, he climbed up into the rocking cup of wood, finding rest for the first time in days.

When he woke, he was floating along a strange shoreline. It was like a desert, but with odd foliage and red sands. He beheld strange animals that hopped and leapt strangely. Hungry, he paddled his clever bowl of wood to the beach and proceeded to hunt down these fleet, hopping creatures. Once caught, it put up a fierce battle, but inevitably went down under the mighty paws of our forefather. While he feasted, he observed the unnerving oddities that inhabited that land. Many of the creatures carried babies in their bellies, a sort of fold of skin holding them close. Not-monkeys climbed in the trees, strange birds made laughing calls, and all sorts of other creatures that only minimally resembled life he was used to.

Thinking rightly that the world was a large place, and that he had other places he might float to, Resenar took several unusual things to mark his journey by, then climbed back into his comfortable conveyance. Pushing off from that strange shore, he again set sail onto the restless ocean. This time he faced a new danger, one that didn't even resemble any sort of fish the brave lion knew. It was soft, squishy, and with many flexible, boneless arms. Each of those arms was covered in odd, sucking mouths that clung to anything they touched. His boat was tipped over, and the creature dragged him under the surface. Long he fought, and much blood was shed, both of his and his opponent's. When he was certain he would black out, the creature finally left him, fleeing into the dark depths, leaving him to struggle to the surface.

He knew not how he made it to shore, but he awoke to find himself washed up on yet another beach. Once more he was confronted with strange animals, though the jungle atmosphere was vaguely familiar. Still, nothing he'd experienced compared with the thick foliage and towering trees. And the birds! So many different kinds, in so many colors! Having had little use for birds back home, he ignored the swirling, chattering masses and explored further. It was such a tangle, he didn't dare venture far from the shoreline. He could smell many animals, but almost oall of them hid from him. Monkeys of strange sorts hung above, calling warnings to each other. He caught and killed several small creatures, catching sight of an odd creature that looked like a combination of a genet back home and a monkey. Still, large game was clearly missing from this land, and after a fight with a small, spotted native feline over territory lines, he chose to leave.

But how, you ask? Why, like he had started his adventure in the first place! He conveniently found a large tree, toppled not far from the water's edge. It was a might feat of strength, but he pulled it to the ocean all on his own. Determined to get home, he climbed aboard and paddled back out into the waves. Many days he spent, eating fish and growing ever more thirsty, until once more land came into sight. This was land he recognized, though! When he came to shore, it was to his dismay he realized he had not arrived home, but many many leagues from our dear pride's territory. Many weeks he spent, traversing the distant lands, fighting elephants, racing cheetahs, and disbanding hyena packs, before he finally arrived safely on our borders. Such hardships had developed powerful muscles, and the pride swore he grew taller and broader with his roaming. To this day, we hold great respect for the sea and its ways, though none have since dared to venture so far upon it as the great traveler Resenar did so long ago!
 

[Andranis]

Mi mi mi miiii!
Gather children, for this is the story of our beginning. This is the story of the first Warlord!

Once, long ago, there were lions. And then there were LIONS. Some say they were the unwanted offspring of Firekin, others say they were just rogues who happened to say "Let's make a pride." Whatever the source, they were there, and they decided to settle.

The first Warlord was a beast of a lion, said to be the unholy offspring of lightning and death, a living breathing storm on the savannah. His name's been lost to history, but his nickname lives on - The Great Warlord. He united the pride, you see, when they were nothing but small groups in one land, claiming this clan and that. He finally had enough of the squabbling and declared, "I will fight ALL the clan leaders until there is none left! And when I have defeated you all in battle, *I* will rule all!"

Unsurprisngly, he beat them all. Some say he did it with a single swipe of his paw, knocking down several lions. Others say it was over the course of a few weeks so there was fair time to recover. Regardless of how it was done and how long it took, he came out on top and declared himself Warlord. Not king, but Warlord. King was too pretty a title for him, you see, for he saw the title as one simply given, not EARNED, and he decreed that only those who were TRULY worthy and defeated him in a pre-determined battle could call themself Warlord.

It was many years before he'd step down, but in that time he set the structure for the pride. They began to take Thralls, and the Lawspeaker rank was born, and the traditions of the pride were laid out now that they were more or less at peace with themselves. Lions wanting to join, for instance, were made to fight their way in to prove they were worthy.

Eventually, the Great Warlord DID get old. He didn't want to just die in a den, though, or die of old age. No, he wanted his death to be GLORIOUS! They were already planning a campaign into neighboring territory to recover the Great Warlord's favored great-grandson, so they moved into the lands to get him.

The Great Warlord fought with all the ferocity he'd possessed since he was a cub, taking many lives with his great and scarred paws. As his group reached where his great-grandson was held, the opposing pride's king attacked. The battle between the leaders was glorious, and many strong Reavers remained to watch while a Captain took the Warlord's great-grandson home. Both lions matched strength swipe for swipe and hit for hit, but the Warlord was just a bit older, just a bit more worn, and the opposing king found an opportunity and seized it.

Nobody can remember how it happened, but the next the Reavers knew, their Warlord had fallen and died. The foreign king allowed them to at least take their dead with them as they left, and the pride mourned the loss of their Great Warlord. It was said, though, that he had died a death filled with honor, and those that had lived through the war declared, "This was a good day to die."

And that, cubs, is the story of our pride's beginning, our first Warlord... And the birth of the phrase "It's a good day to die!"