[Azuhel]

Deadline: October 24th
Participation: Semi-mandatory, it would be best if you joined.
Who: Everyone, all ranks, all ages
When: Takes place after the war

---

Loud.

They were loud. The many screeching, cackling, cawing bellows of those she considered both lesser and friend. They leapt up from the space, flapping their wings with an angry buzzing energy, so aggressive, so intense, so passionate in their actions. Simplistic and yet, there was beauty in such. That predictability made them controllable, useful. Tools of progression used to provision—to pluck and pick and divide—pockets of power until everything was to disconnected and nothing was unified.

Then, she had offered salvation.

She had offered stability, security, rebirth, and life through a careful combination of cultivation—come to me, all the faithful and hungry—and bloodline elevation. Look at this, this space once filled, toxic and overflowing with rot. Look at this, this self-sufficient wonderland, her paradise, her heaven…

Her utopia…

Built on the backs of schemes and bridges, crumbling so that she could build something far greater than the paltry ideals and tricks those before her had managed. She was the symbol, the innovation, the effort, the purpose. She was the god, the goddess, the lord, and the lady. She’d built it, this space of worship and movement, and they had come—

The starved and downtrodden.

And she’d made herself appear as their equal.

Wasn’t she, though? This figure of false-humility, the Lady of expansive ideals? She wanted to be the legend, the legacy. She wanted to be the Center, the throbbing pulsing vein of survival, the shepherd who gently led her lambs marching forward toward snapping saliva-slick chops. And wouldn’t they, eventually, pray for more and wouldn’t she, the faithful servant, provide it?

So humble, the Dragon. So beautiful and kind and sweet—

And it was kindness that drove her today, through the cawing field of snapping beaks and startled black bodies, fumbling to fly and get away, away from here—

The tip of the Acropolis, where she brought her children to watch the dawn while she watched them play and briefly wondered about the world she wanted to create for them. About the empire she wanted them to inherit. About the eradication of those wrong-thought bloodlines she wished to toss to the muck so that her own would grow and rise and rise and rise.

And she smiled, some soft, gentle, and motherly thing and waited for the day to crest.

And that was when she called them. Her people. Alteron’s wolves, so they could embrace the sort of change she knew they all yearned for. Her song, haunting in its foreign tune, would be the song to greet the populist of Alteron.

As she prepared to gift them their true Lord.

[Orcrist]

How long had Alteron been here? he wondered quietly, muzzle deep into a carcass. The snapping of gristle was all he heard in the quiet morning as he was alone if only for a brief time. Orcrist wondered just when his mother built her empire, and what she would think of it now? Her death spiraled events he never would have dreamed — a false King who let his home die. A mother whose children crumbled into death also let this forest sweep with rot. From fire there was rebirth, and Orcrist found himself craddled into the nest of the Dragon, extending her riches to those who were worthy and loyal. The Commandant had slipped a few times in his life, but he was a man of business and a man worth his word.

So when the call came, the Commandant listened. A soldier in her empire who came at her beckoned call. Her song was purposeful, her intelligence unmatched. She was once a part of Rapier's regime, and it would be Azuhel who would take the crown, dusting off the blood and dirt and rot in order to revive what had been lost. Ajax nor Anya could ever achieve these things. Ajax abandoned his throne, Anya was too weak, too hopeful for the day her King would return.

He would not.

And Azuhel would not wait either.

The boy sovereign was too much like his father, his blood tainted with the sense of adventure. The Dragon had always held the reins of this country, gave this place life when there was little of it anywhere else. Orcrist admired her; would burn and kill for her. He promised her his loyalty, and he meant it. So, he climbed, blood still staining his person. The horizon burned as the molten sun peeked through, giving the world light and warmth. It was here at the Acropolis that the dense forest and fog did not keep the light out, that they could be blessed with sunlight. It was here that Azuhel usurped all, letting her crown shine in the morning light. It was here that she would build her empire and stand to gain, rather than lose. She had always been the figurehead.

Always the Sovereign.

He approached, watching her newest children play among grandchildren. He did not miss the black and white body of his daughter sitting quietly and watching with an eerie smile upon her face. She was leaning against a golden body, purple eyes shining toward the sun. The Commandant stepped closer to the Red Dragon, nodding in greeting. "G'mornin' Azuhel!" he bellowed, enthusiastic about this coming day. He stood beside her — shoulder to shoulder — as they were friends and commrads. Today he would see her rise, and the once-prince would smile as he saw his mother's crown be placed on a worthy skull.

Long Live the Dragon.

✦ ✦ Speech Text ✦ ✦

[Kokipa]

It is often the darkest skies
that show the brightest stars

-Richard Evans

---

The black wraith really had no master to call her own. Even when she had been a part of the world before, did she really have a master? She had a mentor, a wolf who molded her and bent her to become who was was now. If anything, the wolf that she was was created in his image instead of being made of her own. Looking back on who she was, the wolf that she had been had been a pathetic creature. One who knew nothing of the real world and its harsh realities. She was not nothing like that creature. One of the dark that lies in waiting to snatch those who were weak. Her bright eyes cast her in a different light, made her seem like a bright creature. She was sharp, razor like in her words. She had become that to please him. And now she had come back, a wolf who had no more places among where she had been. She had a mission before, and now she had none. If anything, she was a wondered trying to figure out what she was now. Had she not disappeared into the woods on day to find that answer? And it would seem that she had yet to find the answer to the one thing that she had wanted to find.

But that did not mean that she was weak. She was strong in her observations, in her will to survive. She looked like she couldn't hold out in a fight but that too was wrong. Kokipa may not have found a place in the world, wanted a place so badly that it hurt, but that did not mean that she was weak in any way. She had clawed her way up from being a serf, the lowest of the low. Even lower than slaves and had become a sentry before she had lost herself in a battle between the dark and the light. She had not found the wolves who had made that her within her, and in a way she was glad. She did not want to face them just yet and was okay with waiting. The dark wolf had taken to trying to figure out the goings on within Alteron, as many things had changed since she had been gone. So far it was all just a mess, a struggle between powers that were and powers that be. The wraith just slid in like a snake, watching and observing. She did not see any change with the way that others tried to soothsay their way towards the top. Kokipa was a watcher, a fly on the wall.

Which was why when she was stalking her prey, hunger driving her to find something to eat, she stopped and perked up at the summons someone had called out. She had yet to meet many within the pack. She did not ignore it, instead went towards the sound that had echoed though the woods. She made quick time, her speed one of the things she retained after all of these years. She came into a clearing, one of the first to arrive. She noticed a wolf that was familar to her, one who bright like fire but she could not place it in the years she had been gone. She held a regal authority, something that spoke I am the one that called you here. Kokipa stayed within the shadows, not going to close, but in a position to watch should things get interesting.

[Lemieux]

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

---

Been there, done that.

To say Lemieux was surprised about the call would've been an overstatement. He wasn't, nor was there anyone there for him to witness the brief, dull roll of dark eyes that came afterwards. Even now he highly doubted Azuhel would ever forgive him for nearly abandoning Alteron in a fit of paranoia and fever, considering she still hadn't. It had been so long that a once gaunt Tower had been putting on weight and while nowhere near what one would normally consider a healthy wolf, no longer bones threatened to push out from underneath skin. The recent changes made him wonder if his silvertongued shadow still crept around any more, or if she too had abandoned him. 

In the end, it didn't matter. Very little did. Empires and friends came and fell with the changing seasons and this was yet another chapter in a life that should've ended long ago. Lemieux's mind wandered as he idly strode towards the call, waiting at any moment to be punished for one reason or another, or if everyone was too busy scrambling for their own four paws to notice the relic come to court. Where was Anya? Simon? ... Ajax? How many faces would he come across that were unfamiliar now, in this dying jungle?

Everyone could say what they would of the mad prisoner, but at least he was smart enough that once having arrived, he stayed to the shadows. Naturally more would come to take the prime seats and, ultimately, he didn't care about what brand new experiment the Dragon was going to roll out. If he remembered right, she'd done that once before. Twice, perhaps? It seemed like she'd garnered the favor of the pack, however, so he would act polite and smile in an attempt to suppress a loud yawn. All the while, a dull ache throbbed at the back of his skull, perhaps in numb mourning for the eye he'd lost to the red beast. 

At least someone got what she wanted.

---

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Oktober]

This was her home, she reminds herself, stretching awkwardly, thick bangs falling over an eye as she wakes for the day. It was different than the neutrals than saboro. It was, almost nostalgic in a way she didn’t understand.

She had never experienced this place not before but she felt a sense of belonging with her family. It was relieving to not have to run from her dragons blood.

Alteron was fine and her mother was here. She had to know the women of her bloodline to understand them. It does not truly sink in who’s voice calls her, not at first.

She wanders towards it careful to avoid tripping over the dense undergrowth.

When she sees her mother she is silent. This was not the same woman she knew before. Would she even recognize her? Oktober thinks that maybe it wouldn't be all that bad if she didn't.

Relief washes over her as she stands amongst alteron, desperately trying to make eye contact with her estranged mother.

She has no words, she knows no one. But she is there, and for once in her life she is not a lone knight fighting against a scaled creature. She embraces who she is, perhaps she was not doomed to be a monster.

[Shatter]

we've got some graves to fill and a slaughterhouse to run

A crowded womb and a healing body kept the Viscount contained in her den, but, relieved of that oppressive weight and with her fangs wet from war, Shatter could strode into the dawn of Azuhel's reign with renewed purpose. It was not only the Dragon who experienced a rebirth -- the black knight herself walked with a new banner held high.

Azuhel held her loyalty in a way that feeble, flighty Ajax and his bride could not. All it took to buy Shatter's respect was a new sword and an important title. Azuhel wheedled and grinned and made her pretty speeches and called her Friend, but Azuhel was no fool and she understood the superficialities needed to secure Shatter's continued cooperation.

Azuhel engaged her; thus, in the interest of seeing this prosperity continue, Shatter dedicated herself to Azuhel's cause. And to ensure Azuhel's success, she would promise her children. Antaeus, who walked alongside her, had already pledged his loyalty to his mother. Their children followed behind them. Shatter callously let the little bodies struggle to catch up with her, while Antaeus attentively oversaw their journey, assisting them where they could. Shatter did not interfere. Antaeus had a soft-heartedness for their children of which Shatter was incapable. Antaeus could coddle them all he liked, but even he understood the particular hierarchy to this family.

The Acropolis crackled with bird wings, towering between the trees like a pillar of pallid light. Others already congregated to Azuhel. That was another quality of the Dragon that fascinated Shatter; Azuhel demonstrated an unusual proficiency in collecting devotees. Shatter made note of Orcrist's presence, locking eyes with him briefly for a lingering look of acknowledgment, but she quickly honed in on Lemieux stalking the outskirts of the slowly-growing crowd. Lemieux was wise to keep his observations to himself, and indeed, Shatter had no way of knowing the extent of his disdain. She targeted him for no particular reason other than he was a favorite victim. Shatter closed in on him quickly and snapped at his scruff, either drawing blood or driving him back; regardless of the outcome, she'd leer behind a crocodilian rictus of cruel delight. It was not quite a smile; more a twist, a deformity of the lips.

"BOW," Shatter growled, not only to Lemieux but the group as a whole, "TO YOUR SOVEREIGN. THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF ALTERON."

If there was any doubt as to the nature of this gathering, Shatter made it her duty to dispel that confusion. Pledge yourself. Eat the Weak, as her protege had uttered. If your stomach is too weak for it, then we have no need of you.

[Lemieux]

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

---

ooc; hopefully it's okay if I post again dsjdkjhsd

Ah, there she was. No other wolf could be as proud as Shatter, he thought, for all her lofty ambitions she'd made her mark one way or another. Lemieux could admire that in some twisted way, and had he been slightly less jaded to the ways of the game perhaps he'd share within that pallid glow of conquest. He'd seen within her eyes the same everything and nothingness that he'd witnessed in countless others now, like the way they'd lied to themselves as they grasp the fragile crown of power, their horrid gaze blind to the way its thorny vines made their paws both bleed and break. He almost wanted to laugh at them, honestly, then spit in their grinning faces all the while. But he didn't. Survival still gnawed at his bones, after all, and he'd be dead if it hadn't.

As the obsidian creature slunk towards him with all the power and influence as a wolf in their prime, the half-blind prisoner stared back at her, defiant as ever. Maybe this was what earned him such a life, like the annoying insect that flew right out of reach, ever diligently skirting out from underneath the scythe that he undoubtedly imagined some within the current party would've loved to sink deep within his jugular. For this reason alone he almost indulged Shatter within her last-minute target to grab at his now less matted scruff by taking an anticipated but strangely nimble step backwards. 

Not today.

He lingered there on three feet for a moment, one front paw raised for just a second longer as he listed to the guard dog bark her orders. It was... quaint. Had it been so long that the woman before him could only remember when he'd swear never to bow to anyone but Ajax? Maybe. Time wasn't particularly merciful to any of them.

With all the humility and fealty that he could manage, the wolf bowed towards Azuhel with a flourish, eyes closed if only for a moment, the whiskers of his chin barely touching the ground in doing so. There was no reason for him not to, assuming the others would follow suit or make themselves look like the fool.

It didn't matter what he believed, it only mattered how well he lied. And, well, Lemieux had been lying to himself for years. Lying out loud was easy.

 "Of course," he announced. "Long live the Sovereign." 

---

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Sarissa]

The molten sun painting pinks and purples across the sky was a rare sight for the young girl; she hardly saw anything but the fog and dark trees of the Alteron forest. The rose bush gave her some sense of comfort and she found herself there more often than not these days. Sarissa had grown fond of the flowers and their scents, using them as perfume. So, as her cousins played along the Acropolis grounds, she watched with eerie delight, lying next to the personal bodyguard of Azuhel — a woman of gold of whom did not share her name. She was silently staring out at the distance; quiet and still. Sarissa was fine with that, she was enjoying the solitary moments herself.

As her father arrived, however, she changed her tune, humming slightly as her tail swept across the ground behind her, letting the girl stand elegantly as she went to tiptoe toward him and her grandmother. Dear father would receive a kiss, one he would return before her attention was pulled yet again to more company. The black wolf was familiar; a figure the girl had met in her younger days. Their interaction was interesting at best. Sarissa had been a naïve girl, one who had never faced war or understood her status. She was a civilian now, one of one year of age, but Sarissa was still determined to be better than that.

Violence pulled at her curiosity and interest, so as the Viscount dove for someone within the shadows, the girl gravitated her person toward them. No, it was not her business, yet she did not care. She had always been someone meddling into business. She could still feel her teeth digging into her own flesh as she tried to play victim against Caesar’s disregard for the border laws. The man pulled away from Shatter’s attempt of grabbing him to pull him into the light, but he obeyed. How boring, she thought, circling around to see what Azuhel had thought about it all. The Viscount demanded for him to bow, but my, my, he was not very good at it!

“What a pathetic display for a Queen.” she said, bringing a paw up to fiddle with the rose that she tangled into her fur this morning, wanting to make sure it was there and in place. “He also doesn’t seem sincere, don’t you think, Daddy? Grandma?” Red eyes glanced at Shatter then, almost daring for the Viscount to continue. “Viscount?” Sarissa grinned, her smile sinister with a mask of sweetness. The girl would stand with feet spread evenly, comfortably before sweeping her right front leg around to her left, raising it ever so gently with her wrist twisted to a forty-five degree angle, head bowing low with a comfortable distance from the ground rather than kissing it. Tail curled lightly around her back right leg, seemingly counter-balancing the lifted leg though showing now display of dominance.

“Long Live the Sovereign!” Sarissa then giggled, bouncing up with a playful gesture. She would then prance over to her aunts and uncles, waiting for her cousins to arrive so they could play. Whoever was closest, she would pat lightly on the head with her paw, attempting to initiate a game of tag.

Although she yearned for violence to ensue, the girl would remain calm beside her younger family until something happened, and that was when she would strike without warning.

✦ ✦ Speech Text ✦ ✦

[Caesar]

She'd fallen from grace. There was no getting around that. Caesar wasn't one to run from reality and she didn't bother lying to herself. But she wasn't going to lounge about and dwell in self pity either. Sure she'd been thrown down to the bottom of the pack but with a little work she could rise. Rise like the morning sun, its golden ambiance shedding a warm glow across everything it touched. The morning sky was a beautiful sight, painted in pastel shades of pink, lavender, and orange against a pale blue.

It was at such complete contrast to the dark, ominous looking forest that was slowly dying around her as she walked through the mist that seemed to hover along the forest floor. Her mother called and she came to the Dragons roar, following the howl towards the Necropolis.

Another structure that was foreign to her, its sharp pillars of stone and the rocky outcroppings of rock were interesting. It was as if Alteron was an entirely different world now. Caesar had to admit, she was pleased with the changes that she'd seen so far. Was this all Azuhel's doing? The thought made her chest swell with pride even as guilt wrapped around her heart. She should have been here for her mother. Caesar should have never turned her back on Azuhel.

With a heavy heart full of regret and the shadow of hope the fallen daughter climbed the Necropolis until she reached the steadily growing gathering. It would appear that Azuhel was not without support. Sterling eyes scanned the faces of the crowd and she spotted a few familiar figures. Orc, Atlas's mate who had first come to see her after her return was there. Interesting. Sarissa, her dear, sweet little niece had decided to grace them all with her presence it seemed. Caesar ignored the ire that filled her stomach, giving the little girl an antagonizing stare from afar as she went on her little tirade.

Momentarily she fantasied about the day she could rip Sarissa's tongue from her face but she vehemently shoved the thought from her mind and give the little girl a wide smile. She wouldn't always be able to hide within the Dragons shadow. Caesar turned her gaze now towards Azuhel, the one they'd all gathered for, the individual who had been able to bring them all together despite their differences. Pledges of loyalty rang out across the gathering, voices echoing off the pillars of stone in a cacophonous chorus. She bowed her head deeply, nose nearly touching the ground before she rose and met Azuhel's burning gaze with her own misty silver eyes.

"Long live the Sovereign. Long live the Dragon."

[Melek Taus]

Y	outh was such a simple, curious existence. It was as though the world was in some way out of focus, complex images and colors condensing to

basic shapes and hues. Everything was new, but the fine details unperceivable to eyes yet so untrained. Melek Taus was a child, still so fresh from their mother's womb, still so unfamiliar with the massive world around them. Theirs was an existence still so limited by the lack of perception, by the short range in which Melek's little eyes could gaze.

But some things in life were apparent to even one so small, so unseasoned. There were realities that would always been undeniable, clear to even those who had just taken their first steps into the world. To Melek, on their first day of life beyond the simple security of their parents den, what was undeniable and immediate was the power of their grandmother. The power had been in how even Melek's own mother bowed her great head and showed the Dragon her deference. Father gravitated to his mother and even his incredible mass bent at Azuhel's whim.

As certain as the sun's rise in the morning, Azuhel was all that Alteron was and would be. If Melek wished to truly know and benefit their home,
they would need to know and benefit their grandmother. Exalted, the Dragon was a creature, something somehow beyond her own flesh.
In Melek's tiny eyes she was grander than they could imagine, extending out her hand and offering the whole of the world between her claws.
Even as a child, Melek Taus salivated.

When their parents summoned them, pushing them from the den, Melek scurried to their feet and hurried in following after mother, careful to try to keep up as best they could. Everything in Alteron was struggle, even children had to learn how to push themselves to meet expectation and succeed. Melek, though their little lungs burned with the effort of scrambling on their little legs and unpracticed paws, wanted nothing more than to be successful. They wanted recognition and love and more and more and more. Who better than Azuhel to offer opportunity to them all. To Melek.

When they finally arrived, Melek panted to catch their breath, bright golden eyes peering out at the collection of unfamiliar wolves as their nose filled with strange scents. But they were all inconsequential, at least as they joined the throngs that surrounded the leader at their center.
Azuhel radiated with her divine purpose and Melek's skin shivered at the sight of her, framed by those who were pressed under her thumb.
The tiny pup let out an excited chirp, bouncing around their mother's legs as Shatter moved to victimize someone along the reaches of the gathering. They were too far away, Mother! They had to get closer! To see what was happening! To be a part of history!

A call to Azuhel erupted amongst the masses, their voice rising up in a roar. Melek's ears echoed with the rumble of devotion, their eyes round and wondrous. They had never felt something like this, this strange sense of collective power, all united in its purpose. Their tiny voice was so small compared to others, so unimportant, but they could not stay quiet. Bubbling up at the back of their throat, the child cried out in euphoria. "Alteron!!," they cried, tasting the name of kingdom. "Azuhel!!," tasting the name of power.

[Piper]

The Dragon called, and her people replied in their own fashion.

Some arrived quickly, like Orcrist as he announced himself in a garish greeting. Others, like Sarissa as she lounged with the new generation, were already there. One individual was forced to submit, scrape his nose along the cold ground and declare loyalty. As if he had a choice, with the sharp edged woman holding the metaphorical gun to his temple. Children made the background noise, a pleasant static to fill the void. For a group meeting, it was rather peaceful, but she wasn’t here for the people.

She was here, because she owed everything to the Dragon.

No one, not even her adoptive family, had given her something like this. Somewhere to truly call home, and focus on her work. Not the world, the politics: just her own space to do as she liked. It was… boggling, to tell the truth, to imagine someone trusting her so much without even knowing her. Demanding her story, wanting to ask so many questions.

The Dragon gave, and asked for nothing.

The heavy, earthy smell announced her arrival. It wafted toward the gathering in slow, lazy curls of drifting smoke. The incense burned as the hellion paused, violet eyes surveying the scene. A soft breeze ruffled her long coat, and made the hollow horns on either side of her head play soft notes as the air moved over them. Within her jaws she held a goat’s horn, and attached to that? A lantern. Made from wood, bone, and leather it swung gently from handle as she strode forward. The free swinging holder allowed the tallow wax candle to sway to and fro, the incense surrounding the glowing flame stronger now; a wolf's tooth gleaming at the base, a fang for the queen. She carefully weaved through the people, especially cautious of the exuberant Melek Taus (the pelts upon her back brushing against his ears as she walked).

Before the Red Dragon, she bowed. The lantern met the ground with a soft thud as its sturdy, wooden base held it upright. The goat horn clicked against the bone, but the lantern didn’t even budge. It was soundly made for the woman she owed so much to. She stepped to the side, but only to remove the wool pelts. They were the best her sheep could offer this year: warm tones of brown and one even dusted in gold. The last item, she fidgeted about before she placed it on top. It was much bigger, and tapered into a cloak. Dark, rich black lined with soft rabbit fur at its collar.

“I will do better for you, Dragon. Long live your reign.”

Then the shepherd stepped back and away, not wanting to be the center of attention. Let her work speak for her.

[Eidith (RP)]

They all went crawling. Like little ants to the big red queen ant. The Red Dragon.

Was she a queen at all, though? Edie did not know much about Alteron's foundations - mediocre student that she was - but she knew that the title of 'queen' in the pack was an ambiguous one at best. Or an imaginary one at worst. She had been brought up to believe the Dragon's word was not only right, but it was law and a degree of brainwashing had managed to convince her that those two things went hand-in-hand. They were not to be debated. They were not to be questioned. Debate and questions did not belong in Alteron. Only righteousness and power. Two things that Edie was drawn to like a moth to a flame. Like most of Alteron's youth.

With that, she hardly stood out in reality. She joined the rest of the pack's youth, her spotted coat almost causing her to blend in with the darkened crowd, seemingly led by Sarissa who had arrived first. 

She giggled unkindly as the one-eyed less-than-a-wolf was made to submit and, at Shatter's command, she bowed her head at the Dragon. Even if asskissing were below her - good lord, it wasn't - Edie would not hesitate in following the order.

Bad things happened to you if you did. Bad things that would make you think twice about showing your mutilated, stupid face in public.

The young apprentice paid little attention to anybody else gathered. None of her siblings were yet in sight (LMAO - she thought) and there was very little reason to engage with the rest. Sarissa got the smallest of glances, but only because she was the one closest to her age who was present. Otherwise, all attention was on the Dragon and the anticipation of a dramatic pause. 

"Long live the Dragon," the young apprentice echoed with another giggle. "Long live the Sovereign."

[Leviathan]

Leviathan had wanted change, and he was getting it.

Change apparently came in the form of a coup and a quaint gathering of individuals with different goals but all in all at least one agreement. They wanted Azuhel at the throne, they wanted a one true Sovereign instead of a puppet. He could respect that, it was a grain of honesty in a bag full of carefully veiled lies, and it was a mountain of opportunities for all of the new Sovereign's favourites. And it meant a silent, pained struggle for those in opposition. All in all, it meant entertainment for him, entertainment that his two ranks could not provide, at least.

With heavy, but cushioned footsteps, Leviathan pushed himself towards the gathering, eyes scanning the crowd for anyone he;d actually want to stand nearby during all this. He had  not spotted Warsaw, the only sibling he felt a strong kinship to, and decided he'd save him a spot for when he showed up. On his way through the crowd he heard Sarissa's voice among strangers, faking some sort of displeasure. Attention turned to her, and Leviathan sighed in passing. If she looked at him, he would blink slowly at her. Fake sweetness and childlessness could only get you so far, he thought, and turned to keep walking to find himself a nice spot.

The Herald himself did not join into the crowds of cheers, but he did keep his eyes maintained on Azuhel as he gave a courteous bow halfway to the ground. As far as his servitude went, he was positive that the Red Dragon knew that his alliances belonged to whoever made the earth shake the hardest. And right now, and until further notice, that person seemed to be no one but his grandmother. And it would be a cold day in hell if she ever lost her edge.

When Warsaw finally came, Leviathan nodded up at his brother to have a seat next to him, even going as far as giving him a nice, albeit struggling smile. 

[Antaeus]

A Mother’s voice never leaves her children’s ears. Not if she has seen to them and brought them up well. Azuhel had done just that. She’d worked herself deep into the heart, but most importantly, she’d planted her teachings into the mind. So, when a Mother calls, what does a good son do? Antaeus awoke instantly from a dead sleep, raising besides his macabre mate as she too shared a strong fondness for no other Alteron leader unless they were Azuhel.

Shatter was out of the den before him and already making her way to where his Mother was. No doubt the Dragon was going through with it at last. Solidifying her singular claim to the land. Removing those who would try to oppose and derail the progress someone like her stood to make.

The tired looking male, usually sluggish in his movements, rushed through his home in a hurry. He plucked each child up or shoved them awake with his cold nose. Then he tidied up all their faces, licking the sleep from their eyes, and all the milk from one boxy little maw. In a few seconds, he was pushing them out the mouth of their den if the children weren't already after their own Mother by that point. He hovered protectively over the stragglers. Scooping them up between his teeth gently and placing those soft little bodies upright should they fall. He was the kinder of the two parents, and yet, today even their Father was itching to move faster. Those teeth giving the slower pups a gentle pinch to their nape.

A reminder.

'Hurry. Be stronger. Your Father won't be so kind forever if you don't.'

But for now, he delicately pushed them forward.

They all arrived by the time his lady was already off to poke at the yellow furred fellow. A hornet with no stinger. Antaeus kept a watchful eye on his pups as they moved about, some following him, others were after their Ma, and some finding their own way within the gathering. For his part, the silent beast of a wolf drug himself along the side of his small, voracious, mate before attempting to loop around the other side of Lemieux as they bowed. His ghastly face looked down on them. Large oil pools hovering eerily close, ominous, but not necessarily filled with the malice that one would assume. Ant’s face was always a hard one to crack. Maybe he was just curious. After all, he had no idea who this one was or why his Mistress seemed so pleased to see them.

Ah well, any friend of Shatter’s was a friend of his. Whether they liked the sound of that or not.

His gaze soon returned to his Mother. Where it was meant to be. Though his look was as blank as ever her son felt pride running through his veins. He did something that he’d never done. It was a foreign sound that rang out through the dying woods. Coarse and harsh, like fire was scorching the lining of his windpipe every second the noise echoed out. A howl that sounded more like a roar against those normal cheers. Odd no doubt, but she would know what it was.

A fitting outcry of devotion and esteem, from the dragonling to his Mother who flew above them all.

[Crow]

This strange asylum was Alteron in name only.

He recognized no faces, save for hers. He recognized no rank names murmured in passing by various wolves. But he did recognize the acropolis, changed by time's strong hands as they were, and faded old memories floated like soap scum to the surface of his frenetic mind at the sight of it. They'd thrown enemies of the state from this steep height once; their bones shattered with a special sort of music when they hit the ground after their dizzying drop. Maybe they would have thrown him as well, if they'd been more clever.

Ah, that was so long ago. Any bad feelings on the matter had dissolved like Alteron's old regime. He'd known far worse since them. Starvation, in the freezing moor. A jagged lance, piercing his eye. The kiss of fire all down his back. Come and see, he might have laughed, his face all teeth. In a few weeks' time, once all the novelty had worn off, perhaps he'd start to miss the holy valley. He really had loved it, in the way that mad dogs can love anything.

Azuhel had invited him to den at her side in the great cathedral. Its empty halls, its dusty smell, they reminded him of Canaan's domain. What a fine mockery the Red Dragon made of them! But what was this about, her new summons?

It had been a long time since Crow had trekked to any beckoning howls. Even replacement Rosa selected in their endless game of musical chairs failed to interest him by the end. Yet here he was, lingering at the edges of the gathering and observing all those present with a feverish, penetrating stare. Listening to them praise her in a homogeneous chant.

If she happened to look his way as the crowd continued to gather, she'd be able to see him smiling, his eyes pleasantly half-lidded. He didn't need to howl her name. He didn't need to tell her he would eat the weak and come back for seconds. She already knew.

She'd known for a very long time.

[Rosalind]

actions - “speech” - thoughts
_______________________

The young princess was absolutely enamored at the relentless pull her mother had among all of those who resided in Alteron. She stared with large, glossy eyes. Tail wagging madly the more company that gathered to praise her. It was inspiring and motivating to the young girl who danced between her legs, staring in all directions as everyone chanted. Of course, Rosalind was unaware of the grand scheme of things. All she understood was that her Ma, Pa, and Papa fought off the bad guys. Obviously they did a good job.

She tried to participate in on the customary sing-song howling that her peers were practicing, but when she threw her head up and released her own tune it was nothing more than a pathetic long-pitched yelp. Had she been born with the curse of tone-deafness, she may have continued. But recognizing quickly that she didn't hold the same harmony, she settled for telling her beloved Ma just how proud she was. “Go Ma! Woohoo! I love you”

It was so titillating to see that so many others loved her Mama almost as much as she did.

“Long live Mama!! Go Alteron!”

ooc sorry for the shortness!

[Crisis]

She watched the march of ants across the bones of some ground creature, sprawled out in the undergrowth. She'd killed the animal and eaten the flesh, but gleaned further fascination from watching the cleaning of the bones. The learning and testing of plantlife and poisons was splendid, but art of using pests to perform a function served her sense of accomplishment. It was fun. And more than that, organizing her medicines was boring.

The call of summons was a blessed sound, and Crisis rolled to her paws easily. She could fetch the cleaned bones later; meetings were always entertaining in some form or another. As she cut through the woods and approached the Acropolis, she noted the faces of those she saw gathered. She watched with curiosity as one wolf forced another to bow to the Dragon, and Crisis felt a smile start to creep along her lips. She spotted her sister, and just barely kept from rolling her eyes at Sarissa's giggles. There was nothing and no one more irritating than Sarissa.

Crisis looked across the gathered crowd and spotted Leviathan. Weaving her way through the attendees, she plopped herself down on his unoccupied side with an unceremonious thud, and let her tongue loll comfortably from her maw. She copied him, bowing to Azuhel on her perch as she received gifts from what looked like a weird sheep, and winked at him when she sat back up again.

But that was all. She didn't have much to say to him anyway, but even so, this was a special event. She had never known any reigning force but Azuhel, and to witness her officially seize what was always rightfully hers marked something Crisis had secretly hoped for. Perhaps a conversation was in order. But...later. "Long live the Sovereign," she echoed, smiling lazily. "Long live the Dragon."

[Anya]

A cathedral bell tolling from the highest spire would have been less resonant. The forest shivered. 

Quiet paws stopped mid-patrol. Those paws had seen the red dust of the mountains, the mire of the swamp. The blood and ice of the glacial sea, the ash of the volcanic wastelands where she had lost her child's father, the soft sand of the beach where she and Ajax had met. Now they stood in Alteronian soil - dark and soft. It felt more right than any place she'd stood before. Alteron could make sense to her. Evelyn and Tecuani and Nerezza and Xolotl and Mikhail and Ajax were all gone, but Alteron still stood, black and green against the yawning maw of time. It made sense to fight for that. To live and serve that. To try and make something permanent against the chaos that clawed at everything Anya had ever held dear. 

She turned to the howl and dashed, quick and quiet, to the source. Over the moss and mushrooms, the dark loam, the hard gray rocks that climbed upwards to the Acropolis. She hadn't expected a pack meeting today. Azuhel had not notified her. Something was different in the air and it set the timber wolf on edge. 

She emerged from the foliage among the people, her people, walking past Lemieux with a silent glance, meeting Shatter's eyes briefly. She walked silently towards Azuhel, searching the whole time for young wolf adorned in a crown of bone. Where was he. Every wolf here mattered, and was important, was Alteronian and therefore her ally and her burden, but it was the boy with the blue eyes she wanted to see. What was happening here? Why hadn't she been informed? The small wolf walked up the rocks of the Acropolis. She met Azuhel with a look of confusion and worry. The people murmered and shifted. The air was oppressive. Something was changing. 

"Bow." Shatter said to the masses. "To your sovereign. To the rightful queen of Alteron." 

The silver Eye turned to the red. She quieted the gasp in her stomach - now more than every she could not appear weak. She glanced among the crowd again, looking for allies, familiar faces, and found little support among the storied mob. She saw her father's glittering silver gaze, watching, expressionless and unsmiling. The people began to shout Azuhel's name. Where was Gideon. Where was the child. A note of panic began to rise in her. If anyone had hurt him - Where was he? Everything was loud and bright and fast. There were too many people here. The wounds of previous empires gave a familiar twisting in her gut.

"Silence." The girl said, her voice sharp and surprisingly clear against the din. "Let the Dragon speak."  

And Anya turned to Azuhel, the chilling cold of a mother's fear and fury meeting the untameable fire that Azuhel had always and would always represent. Leadership and service, twin shackles. Had Azuhel ever been bound by them? Anya had. She had not asked for this, she had not asked for this noose around her neck, she had not asked for Gideon or the crown that Azuhel had placed on his head. She had not asked for Alteron, but she had lead and served it nonetheless, bound by shackles Ajax had clasped around her. Something in her feet, the paws that had traveled so far, told Anya to run. That everything was falling apart. That the universe was spinning and breaking. But Anya had never run, not from duty, not from pain, she only moved forward, never back, she'd serve her king she'd serve her people she'd serve the law and the weight of history where was Gideon what was going to happen to the boywhere was her SON.

[Anzu]

((I have permission to write Herc into this post, will code when i get home)

In stumbles Anzu, tired eyes, not having expected to be woken up in the morning. She had spent the evening snuggling up to the boy who she had chosen as her own. They were, of course, Dating by now. Old enough to understand the connotations of love, to try to comprehend a relationship.

They spent a lot of time together, she had woken him up, not wanting him to miss something important. She leads the way though; but presses against him gently when they arrive, catching the tail end of the situation, Shatter demanding someone bows, Azuhel speaking, and lastly, Anya telling the group to hush.

Had she thought she was an important person in Alteronian history, maybe she would have asked who Anya was to say something, to silence the cheering. But, she doesn’t. Something about situations like this made her a bit uncomfortable, maybe it was not knowing who was right or what was wrong. She never says anything, she knows which way she’ll go after all.

The majority was right, after all. She looks at Hercules questioningly, as if to ask him what he thought, before looking over the conversation. She knew in her mind who she thought was in charge here. Azuhel of course, the woman who had taught them how to burn someone alive.

The woman who had lead them to war.

She isn’t important enough to talk, but she is important enough to act, and she was ready to do whatever Azuhel told her too.

[Shylock]

She only knew mothers laws, her fathers love and protection. She was too young to understand politics, but maybe one day, she would look back at everything with a sage nod and say, “I was there” It was that kind of situation wasn’t it?

It was a beautiful, memorable morning where she got to play with her siblings, and she got to be next to her mother. She brays with the others, howling out in her puppy voice, she wags her tail and stands tall and proud, unsure of exactly what this morning meant.

Never had there been so many people around them.

“WOO-HOO” she calls, smiling and joining in with Rosalind. “Long Live Alteron” she would try to howl in unison. It was all patriotic, all fun and games. It was even fun and games when miss shatter rose to put some stranger into their place.

She understood something that day that she would never forget. Her mother was a powerful woman. One day, she thinks, she would be that strong, that proud and wonderful. One day, she would have someone to put people in their places for her. Or perhaps, she would be able to do it by herself.

Long live her legacy.

She is loud until the woman comes in, shouting to be quiet, and of course, she quiets down, she was only a child who was learning that not doing what she was told by adults would get her a swift nip by her parents.

If however, the crowd continued, picked back up, she would continue her howl.