ᴋᴀɴᴊᴀ's Den

Introduction

Hi there, I'm Damien! ~(They/He)~

I'm a 19 year old art student on the west coast, and I have a clear affinity for piebalds and Ferus lions, though the focus changes depending on the account you're visiting. My activity varies depending on the week, so watch my "last-online" status before studding to my king! Currently, my lioden commissions are closed due to my overwhelming schoolwork.

While this is my main account, my second is definitely my favorite, and I urge you to check it out! I'm more active there than on my main, Valerian!

Gallery

Art by Xiaelite!

Pride Lore

Most successful kings are loyal to their pride, are great leaders, and they're selfless. They're either lucky enough to be born into their role or lucky enough to be trained from the moment they can walk. When you think of a good king, you don't think of a lion who was granted that title by accident, or what many would consider "luck".

Luck did not grant me my title. Luck took my brother and my freedom away.

Our previous king had died in a freak accident, with no way we could have prevented it. Mother says we mourned his death for days, unsure of how to continue without an heir, as he had not left us with one. My brother and I were too young to remember the grief.

But our pride was desperate, looking to mother as the only lioness bearing male cubs, and naming the larger of the two as the next heir. As the runt, I was not jealous of the hard training they put my brother through. In fact, I despised it, confiding in my mother how I felt about it as I grew up. I don't think my brother wanted it, either, but I was lucky our relationship never changed.

As cubs, it wasn't unheard of to go wandering around the territory without supervision, just small adventures. Cubs are curious by nature, especially as they grew older, even if curiosity is the common killer of those who pushed their luck. Ironically, it was dumb luck I'd been left unscathed, because my brother was not so fortunate. Mother was furious, but not as furious as she was worried sick, unaware that my brother had been with me on our adventure. He never came home.

I wasn't particularly worried, he'd always been the stronger one, the one who was destined for greatness. I assumed he was just taking his time, sunset after sunset I waited, unable to come to terms that I'd lost my brother. Impatient, my pride scrambled through their options. I was far too weak and untrained to become king, I insisted on waiting for my brother, only receiving scowls in return. By some desperate grasp at fate, or perhaps a sick sense of humour, they renamed me as heir, convinced that they were wrong and it was always supposed to be me.

It was never meant to be me.

I never quite believed that he died back then, even when I went through the little training I had time to aquire, even when he never showed up. I've grown to mature since then, understanding my newfound role and importance to my pride, however saddening it was the way I had achieved it. The brother I'd grown up with is gone.

Some would consider me a good leader, given what I believe a good leader is, and how I guide my pride through hardship. I've thought over the past and the choices I made to get here, I don't believe that I was ever meant to be king, despite the destiny that forced me into my position. I'm left with one conclusion, one I repeat to those who complain about their luck.

There is no such think as good luck or bad luck. You just have to need what happened to you.