[Melisandre]

From her sanctum of roses and thorns, the Alchemist emerged. The war had been an interesting little moment of her life, but now it had passed, and normality had to creep back into existence. She had gone back to her poisons and potions, experimenting and tinkering and occasionally getting visits from a woman whom she found most fascinating. But today, the Dragon called, and the witch would be foolish to ignore the smoke and flame.

She hung near the back of the crowd, listening to them all cry out and cheer and swear loyalty to the powerful woman in front of them. She did not join them in making noise, but her mere presence here was proof enough of who the red witch respected in this decaying forest. Instead, she merely bowed her head in respect. Long live the Queen.

"Let the Dragon speak."

As she paid attention to the speech, she could not help but quietly make a note of everyone who had turned up.

(Who knows, maybe one day she could label them as a friend or foe).

[Incubus]

[hello I am back and very sick sorry for the shitty post]

He offered a passing glance to the Commandant who had taken the serpent's side at a speed he found himself curious about. Had he never witnessed a coup before living in Alteron as he had? The seneschal harbored a feeling of careful indifference for the glutton, aware of their shared ancestry painted on their coats in sharp swaths and familiar crests, and perhaps that was why he had begun to keep a closer eye on him that any of the others at the woman's feet. Of course with his history of violent outbursts and spitting at the feet of the man before him's brother this indifference could be construed as an unheard of tolerance for his bloodline, but Incubus knew better than most what lied just underneath the surface when something came shimmering along up above... But he did not know the man, and from what he had seen so far he seemed different than his power hungry brother and father before him.

His unhurried gait padded across the smooth flagstone of the acropolis and came to a rest just at her flank on her unoccupied side, his looming silence enough of an alert to his presence by her side. Let the rest of them scream their loyalty and beat their chests, he hummed to himself. Those children she had asked of him were proof enough he was more than willing to play her little game.

Amiss all the hubbub it was the silent man at the edge of the field that gave him pause, his own eyes tracking across brilliant feet that gave rise to distant memories of a Leif and the striped blade at his belt. He found himself curious for a reason he could not quite pin, but in the end there had been too little interaction between true Alteronian nobility and a pseudo prince more concerned with a wisp of smoke that liked to coil sweetly around his throat. Why was this man of all the faces gathered around the one that made his jaw flex at the hinge? Another trick of the light come to play tricks on him again?

Worthy of his attention or not, it was a matter to be investigated at a different time. For now his daughters caught hold of his mercurial attention with their banshee-like shrieks, and the male swallowed down the instinctual urge to snap at his children bleating like glassy eyed sheep under their mother's belly (lucky they had not been his sons or each would have a tear in an ear for misbehaving) to instead silently herd them away to watch from just behind them. He expected complaints of course, but perhaps the harsh eyes of their father watching just over their mother's back would keep them out of the way for a little while.

Better their feet be free of dancing sprites less they need them in a hurry.

[Oleander]

He was already bristling with irritation upon his arrival. Digging his first den was proving to be a toilsome affair for the young man. Stress pulsated across the side of his temple. His claws hurt. His feet hurt. His legs were fucking killing him from all the endless digging and chipping away at rocks and roots. Perhaps he’d been too ambitious wanting to excavate a space of this magnitude?

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have some regrets about not simply making a normal hole beneath a boulder or something else equally simple. Yet, regardless of his budding reservations, did the young man stop? No. Perhaps this was too much for one youngster to tackle on his own, but slowly, surely he was doing, and maybe he needed it too.  

His Grandmother had promised him that he’d have his revenge soon. That gray ghost that’d attacked him in the night would be removed by his own hand. Oleander hadn’t been the one to ruin him, but at least he was getting something. It didn’t matter if Claymore was there enough to appreciate the ire he’d stirred in the lad or not. What mattered was how Ollie felt, and since the attack, something about the boy had been noticeably off. Even these days he was more subdued, but at least since he’d started to build his home he’d started to feel more tenacity burning in his gut.

Or maybe that burn was just his muscles finally getting the workout they’d so needed after months of eating beyond his share.

Without a doubt, the workout he’d been putting himself through in an effort to make his hovel look halfway decent had done a number on his pudgy body. The young adult that came to his Grandma’s summon was visibly stronger. More man now than a helpless child. He arrived prepared to do what she’d asked of her loyal followers. His head held high, bull-necked, and on a steady path of someday becoming something actually herculean.

"Silence."

His pointed devil ears rolled forward upon his head.

"Let the Dragon speak."

Thank Goodness he’d arrived in time to appropriately greet the lady of the hour~

He dares not circle in front of the Dragon, not now, not during HER moment, but he did draw nearer. He faced the woman whose face was laced with concern….and rightfully so. What power did she have here? Maybe once upon a time, a long time ago, but now? Now, “Who are you to tell Alteron what it should do, Lady?” He didn’t know her. Hand never saw her pull any strings or dish out rewards. How many here could really say that they knew this woman. “You be silent, and our ruler will tell us when she wishes to speak.”

Anya had no power here. No sway.

Anything she received on this day was at The Dragon’s behest.

[Blondie]

"Move, now," a command from a giant, a beast, a monster- Maera hustled, ran, fled from her agitated mother. Something about the sentry's belly rounding made her uneasy, like some darkness swirled inside of Atlas, and she wondered if that same shadow lingered when her litter was growing inside.

She hoped so.

She hoped herself right into existence, ending up on the scene of a mob cheering for the dragon instead of condeming it. Their pitch forks raised to a quiet, lonely queen, and her heart felt something new. Pity.

Yet, the white lily stood against a massive wind, a building fire, and stood strong. 'You're a fool,' she wanted to growl, but something stopped her. Something akin to the sound of her mother growling.

But she bows her head to her grandmother, lest the dragon rains hellfire on them all.

----

"Move, now," Atlas demanded, using teeth to tear into the hind end of her weakest daughter. The mint wolf's opinion of her snowy daughter was a jab at the girl's pathetic mental state. Maera was physically strong, but something wasn't right about her head, something too familiar to Atlas for the mother to be comfortable with.

So she hated her.

She hated the little bitch for being so much like her in so many ways. She hoped for her to speak out as they arrived, she hoped for a child sacrifice to strength the new ones growing within her- she hoped, desperately, to gobble up the remains and absorb whatever power was left in the blue-eyed girl.

But all she could do was growl as she approached the scene, all she could do was linger over Maera and bare her fangs at Anya. It was her family's time to reign, and she could feel the philosophy she felt for her children reigning over the pack itself- out with the old, in with the new. Her respects are paid in the dipping of her head, her body.

----

"Move, now," he hears it as he thought to seek Atlas, to ensure she wasn't patrolling the border. There was a collective of wolves, a gathering, and Aspen didn't want anyone to miss it!!!

He sees his co-worker ushering her slow daughter, he sees the urgency from both and rushes ahead, to just before Maera arrived. A look of excitement was quickly replaced with horror, but he gauged the scene and quickly emptied his expression of anything beyond interest. Inside, though, he screamed.

Aspen looked over the crowd, feeling his blood run cold. Where is his mother? Where are his siblings? He feels his heart pounding, hears it over the roar of the pack, and if he were to see one- anyone of them- he'd rush to their side. Not for their comfort, but his own. Especially if Cuff appeared, he would bury his cheek into her neck and brush his fear under the rug.

He ducks his head, lowers his eyes, he finds himself bowing, if only to keep himself alive.

----

"Move, now," the shadow hears as she passes, but offers no glance to the two stragglers. Instead, she distances herself until damn near at the scene.

She feels panic and fear rising, but anger and hatred surpassed it in a bubbling rage. The leopard moves quickly to the side of her only friend, to the side of the woman she failed to protect before now.

"Anya," Lynx speaks, and her heart falls from her mouth. "Anya, I'm here," her words are hushed whispers. She does not bow to the dragon, she does not rear her head in defiance, but she readies herself, in case Anya needs her.

The Headmaster had never been the same since Max left. She had guarded herself to prevent the pain of losing another friend by retreating to the shadows, but not today. She would not lose Anya, not here. Not today.

----

Faye carried a tiny, half-eaten bouquet of flowers to the crowd, blissfully unaware of the tension, and arrived before Incubus with a cheesy, giggly grin. She lays the wildflowers before him, offered an affectionate nuzzle to his legs and buried her face into his fur. He is familiar, he is warmth.

"Papa, what's happening?" a whisper, she wasn't even sure he heard her, so she begins to prod him, nip his legs. "Papa, did they do bad?" but the old Queen demanded silence. Faye's ears flattened against her skull, she feels a wave of uneasiness wash over her, as if she'd been scolded.

So she waits now, finding comfort in her father's scent and fur.

[Tarun]

[short Tarun doesn't have much to do and I am tired and realized today is the deadline. SORRY!]

R

ED DRAGON, RED DRAGON, RED DRAGON - RED DRAGON

He woke with a jolt, standing quickly, sweating and shaking. She had haunted him again. Terrorized his dreams, fueled him with something inside, the instinct to follow, to keep watch and be nobody special. For all he knew there was no moral behind, but he knew that he would follow her, follow the dragon. Even if it intended to claw him, hurt him and kill him, loyal like the dog he was Tarun would stand guard, moved by the red figure and her authority.

He needed to see her again.

He searched the jungle, called for her in desperate tones. My dragon he would whisper, call for her and eagerly hoping she would answer, but it would be hours and he saw her nowhere. Then she called.

As if struck by lightening he ran, he ran like the devil chased him and even though he was far away from her he did his best, pushed himself to his limits and when he did reach her, she was surrounded by others. Some faces he knew, some he didn't. He ignored them all, pushed himself forward and pushed aside a few faces he hadn't seen before, he reached the top of the top, saw grandchildren of the red dragon and pushed himself forward, not thinking, blind by loyalty as he heard them all call her name, "LONG LIVE" and hail they said. Sovereign. 

Crowned

"Red dragon!" He looked at her, saw her, feared her and admired her. He threw himself in front of her, bowed to her, didn't mind the others, didn't watch them or listen to them. He couldn't contain this any longer. "Dragon. Red dragon. Please, I beg. Let me serve you." Let me be close to you, and I shall obey.

[Hercules]

Anzu had awoken him, as she did most mornings nowadays. But there was something different about today; the air felt heavier and the mist  that covered the forest floor felt thicker and colder as it clung to their pelts with dead fingers. He kept close to Anzu's side as the couple walked towards the gathering, heterochromatic eyes shifting uneasily as they scoured the shadows for anything malicious. Hercules cared deeply for the petite female that had befriended him outside the rose gardens not so long ago. They spent a lot of time together now, sleeping, hunting, talking about life and Alteron or just exploring the territory.

Spending time with Anzu meant avoiding the twins which was a really big bonus as far as Hercules was concerned. He wasn't constantly sporting new scars or fresh wounds anymore, thanks to Anzu. Hercules didn't like talking about home life with though. Didn't want Anzu to know how awful it was. He had decided to spend the night in her den once after a particularly nasty scuffle with his siblings and he'd never looked back. Ollie and Sarissa both had their own spaces now as well. They were all growing up it seemed.

Hercules slipped in behind Anzu, nudging her ear gently in reassurance when she presses herself gently against him. They had walked in on a tense situation and he knew she was probably nervous. His eyes bounced around from face to face as his brain tried to figured out what was going on. Hercules opened his mouth to speak when a black and brown female demanded silence and he clamped his mouth shut. Who was she? He felt Anzu's eyes on him and looked down to share a look of confusion with the girl. He shrugged his shoulders a fraction to indicate he was just as clueless as she was.

He looked up at the woman who commanded their attention, the who had taught him what it meant to be ruthless. Azuhel stood there above the crowd, with her red pelt blazing like a fire in the early morning light and he felt something ignite within him. She looked elegant and otherworldly, as if she could pluck the sun from the sky if she set her mind to it. She terrified him and yet he was in awe of her majesty.

He waited for the Dragon to speak.

[Pawprint]

[From my phone; didn't read the OOC note!]

ROOTER

The grizzly bear had gained almost 70 pounds since he was accepted by the brown mixed wolf. Most of the food was everything from mushrooms to fish--he was warned to avoid the gathered deer--so for a bear it was still slim pickings. He kept to Orcrist's den site for safety. His family was--chaotic to say the least. The mother screamed and daddy seemed to roll with things with a wisp of threats in the air. The children were a hot mess. They all acted more like coyotes than wolves. But Rooter kept that to himself. He shouldn't speak ill of someone who accepted him to this pack. Besides, Orcrist acting unwolf-like was what convinced the bear to want to stay here.

Something changed.

His...packmate...trotted off when he heard a sound. Orcrist smelled of food as the bear caught sight of him. Leaving a MEAL? Rooter thought it was silly until screaming mother pushed her daughter to follow. He took a deep breath before standing up, snagging a mouth full of wildflowers he loved so much.

Bu the time he got there, the shouts drove him insane. Wolves with a sense of herd mentality. The dragon. T'dragon. He knew enough that she was a leader and she was a monster. Though seeing her from a distance made him pause. She must have been more dangerous on the inside. Then again, he was a bear looking at a wolf. And, oh, she was missing an eye. Well then. Hello One-eye, meet Bare-back. I was burned by humans from the back of my neck to past my shoulders and my fur still hasn't grown back. What happened to you?

Rooter shot a look at Orcrist, making sure the wolf knew he was there and *needed* to be introduced. His scent reeked of fish and Alteron, but he wasn't about to risk it. A small squabble alerted him to a small brown wolf and a bulky one about who the real leader was. Hmm. Was that the flower who also led?

If Orcrist introduced him, the bear would walk forward, past the snarling, howling, ugly faces that showed loyalty to just one alpha and sat himself a few feet behind where the flower leader and the black cat stood. He finished his meal, swallowing once, letting a few white flowers fall and brush by Anya's feet.

"Apologies, hmmm, Commandant." He got it right! "You didn't say why you were in a rush. I would have followed sooner." Manners bear! He straightened up and tucked his paws neatly under him. "Hello Dragon. I am called Rooter."

[Umbra ☾]

She had gone to find a flower to wear behind her mane. A rose would be nice. Perhaps she would find a bed of them with numbers enough for herself, Cuff, Zack, and Miss Anya.

Umbra came from the dark cast by the clawed fingers of old trees, dying but persistent, when she heard the call. She would have come either way, but there, at the highest pitch, rang something teetering and dangerous. She paused in mid-step, a forepaw extended above the ground, pale blue eyes wide and shining in the shade. Her long tail swayed behind her nervously, so nervously—why nervously? Pursing her lips, she abandoned her trail. She followed the song.

It grew louder. It pulsed in her veins and filled the trembling chambers of her heart. Where is Cuff? she found herself thinking, running faster, long legs gobbling the steps between yesterday and ruin. Zack? Anya?

Eira?

She saw faces and bodies surrounding the Lady Azuhel and felt within the shivering air leaving feverous lungs that something was straining, something was bending. She stopped along the outer rim and pressed her ears to hear what on Earth, what could be—

"BOW. TO YOUR SOVERIGN. THE RIGHTFUL

QUEEN."

Ice froze cobwebs in her blood. She stood in the dark. She stood in the shade. She stood with pale blue eyes wide and shining and boring into Anya, and she tried to step around the crowds to her, to get her attention without drawing attention, to find, to find—

Eira had been right to flee. Eira had been right to forge her way through the wild and abandon the lesser characters in her story behind as tragic footnotes in a less popular spinoff. Umbra didn't ask for this either, and she knew that she was about to be left to fate once again.

She had gone to find a flower to wear behind her mane.

It was not a flower. But it was still red, red, Red.

[sachiel]

whatever I feel for you you only seem to care about you Sachiel approaches quietly. He notices his mother, his littler siblings, his current siblings, Umbra, Lynx, Shatter- the head of his house. He notices them all but he approaches on his own. The miserable boy who's feet are bleeding again, paws splintered and claws mangled and one hanging from it's socket, watches and listens carefully. He has no opinion. He does not know Azuhel personally. He is scared of her. Scared of her, like he is of mother, but he sees Atlas bow. He sees her submit her whole being to the Dragon. And so does the boy. Sachiel's head bows gracefully with bloodied front paws sliding forward, his mane careening down his face and around his muzzle and covering both his eyes as he submits. His body quivvers slightly, his muscles aching and his brain trying to shut down to force sleep. He closes his eyes but he does not drift off, he does not let the dark take him. is there any chance you could see me too? 'cause I love you

sorry it's like, an hour or 2 late. past few weeks have been hard and i completely forgot this had a deadline.

[Mordred]

The little bread loaf was awakened by his father, soft nudges with a cold nose stirred him from his snoozing. They were growing older each day, and Mordred more plump. His puppy fat was growing, rather than melting away. Though the gluttonous feeding was more of a hindrance than a help, the boy filling out at almost double the rate of his siblings. Molten eyes trailed after their father, Mordred's plump form scurrying after him. He didn't want to miss this, didn't want to miss where his mother and where Melek had gone. They were dear brothers, and yet Mord felt the spark of a competition swelling between them. He wouldn't be left behind. Not with a matter as important as this.

Molten eyes trained themselves immediately on Azhuel as she stood, grand and powerful at the head of the meeting. All eyes were trained upon the Dragon, Mordred's paws itching to inch closer, so he might smell the dominance radiating off her that she wielded almost effortlessly. While his siblings scattered about the clearing, Mordred's eyes were on Shatter, or rather who she was with. A pups attention was easily swayed, and his favourite milk mother was the centre of his world at the moment, his own eyes hungry as scorn and judgement licked at his conscience.

"BOW,TO YOUR SOVEREIGN. THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF ALTERON."

Lips peeled back in reactive support, Mordred's puppy teeth flashed from his position between Antaeus' legs. Though he felt brave today, under the watchful gazes of his mother and father. The plump pup didn't wander far, certainly not close enough to the heated action, but a step or two forward from his white faced father. The boy drank in the appearance of the bee coloured man, the one that was oh so disobedient to their rightful Queen. Though, to Mordreds disappointment, the man did bow, grovelling like a pathetic worm writhing in the dirt. He was almost hoping for defiance, for a fight. If only so he could witness his Mother tearing those grey eyes into sludge, stripping the flesh from his juicy bones.

"Silence."Let the Dragon speak." 

Searing eyes turned toward the small women. Mordred didn't know her, didn't know who the fuck she thought she was to be speaking out to the crowd, to his Mother like that. She looked small. Feeble. Weak. She was an adult like Mother and Father and yet she still remained so small. Was this what happened when wolves didn't eat properly? How he wished he was bigger, stronger so he might bend backs and break bones. His ego soared in his little head, devilish sneer on his lips as he regarded Anya with a mocking grin.

“Who are you to tell Alteron what it should do, Lady? You be silent, and our ruler will tell us when she wishes to speak.” 

”Yeah!! Shut your face!” He'd call, fat cheeks fluffing up as he growled, albeit more of a squeak than a growl. Half of it was questioning [ii]who[/i] this weak woman was, who was she to have the gall to question the motivations or motions of Mordred's mother? The other half was riding on the confidence of Oleander, the monochrome male with the piercing eyes. The fat boy's gaze shifted toward the fat cat that appeared, lips returning over his gums as he regarded this one more curiously.

What was it?

The pup has never seen a cat before, and for a moment Mordred is mystified by it, allowing him to sink back against the strong legs of his Father to refocus on the reason they came here. The boy mimics the gathering crowd, chubby face switching attention to where it should have been all along; his Queen. The calls for their leader erupted like a strike of thunder, a deep sense of belonging swelling up in Mordreds breast. It was a call for his voice to be among them, his vocal chords trembling as he fought to raise his voice as high as the adults. ”Alteron! The Dragon!!” He cried, pudgy body trembling with the ferocity that burnt with his belly.

The blood of the Dragon burnt within his veins.

[Amdusias]

Roused from slumber by anyone else, Amdusias may have had a more violent reaction. Instead, her father was greeted with eagerly returned licks to his large snout as Amma struggled to wake herself up. Shatter was gone already, which brought questions to the girl's mind. Where was she? Why was papa hurrying them out of the den? If any of her siblings looked to her for answers, Amdusias only shrugged. She had no idea, but she was extremely eager to find out just what was going on. It seemed important.

Excitement made her legs and paws tingle as she scooted along hurriedly. Amma had met very few other wolves of Alteron, which made the chaotic whirlwind of scents that struck her senses particularly startling. God, she really had to start getting out of the den more!

What they arrived to find was a large gathering of wolves of all shapes, sizes and colors. Amdusias had had no idea that there were that many wolvs in Alteron; she couldn't even count them all. It made her a little nervous, but the girl was determined not to let it show. At the center of the attention was someone she recognized - Grandma Azuhel! Knowing then that it concerned a part of her family, Amdusias was a little more on edge - but Azuhel looked confident and strong.

"BOW TO YOUR SOVEREIGN. THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF ALTERON." her mother boomed, revealing the cause for the gathering. Her grandma was a Queen?! Amdusias grinned widely, toothily. She did as mother bade, bowing awkwardly with small tail wagging furiously behind her. She was happy for her grandma, happy for her family; this was a good thing for all of them, for all of Alteron. Amdusias could tell that much just by looking around at the faces of the crowd, equally excited and hungry for change. There were cheers of jubilation and affirmed loyalty, cries for the longevity of the Dragon. "For the Dragon!" Amdusias bellowed, lifting herself up on her hind legs a bit as her voice rose into the air, eyes alight with adrenaline, a little zealot in the making.

FOR THE DRAGON.

[Cuff]

Cuff did not want to be there.

She could feel her heart thundering behind its cage of flesh and bone as she stood, stiff and cold, watching the proceedings and waiting. She felt as fragile as a bird in that moment as she waited for the inevitable to happen, felt as brittle as the dry leaves fracturing delicately beneath her feet. The feeling of Aspen's cheek buried in her fur was only a minute comfort, but it was grounding in a way. It reminded her that she needed to be strong, even if the image she struggled to uphold was fake. Even if it was all make believe.

(The silver woman had gotten good at playing pretend. Her children didn't even realize that the pillar they always leaned against was slowly crumbling.)

She stood, quiet and firm, watching the Dragon, drawing in a deep breath before pushing the air through her nose in a carefully controlled exhale. Her words to her children who arrived and found her side came soft, careful, but there was no mistaking the firm undertone. "Stay close," she whispered, keeping her attention forward. The only time it strayed was to linger, very briefly, on the Dragon's family. On her children. Grandchildren. Nieces and nephews. Mates.

(So many. There were so many of them. It truly was a hoard.)

But ultimately, her gaze finally moved on from them and settled on Anya, the beautiful darkling woman who had granted her some measure of happiness, once upon a time.  Who had unveiled her crimes and chosen not to swing the sword. Who had spared her life to spare her children. Who she still owed so much to. She did not deserve the harsh scrutiny of these people around her. She did not deserve their disrespect. Anya was cold but Cuff could not ever recall her being cruel, and for the silver outrider that was enough. She wanted desperately to join her side in that moment like Lynx, like Umbra, and yet—

She couldn't. She couldn't. In the end, all she could do was stand back and watch her, watch her with something terribly blank in her expression. Something tired. Something resigned.

(I'm sorry, Keystone, but I have my own that I need to worry about.)

Eventually, Cuff forced herself to tear her gaze away. She had to. There were other matters that commanded her attention then. Matters that she could not afford to turn her back on and ignore. Judging by the echo of voices all around her, it wasn't hard to figure out what was happening. Wasn't hard to realize what needed to be done. It was hard, yet all the same, Cuff did not hesitate. She turned back to the Dragon and bowed her head, lowly, so very low, her muzzle descending until it finally touched the ground in a cold, reverent kiss.

Long live, she thought hollowly.

[seir]

They cannot hear the call.


They do not hear the rapture befalling Alteron, the screeching cries of a reign ended and the victorious fury of an empire rising. They don’t hear the distant echo of things changing, trees uprooted and new seeds planted to bring about some righteous new era.

But they smell the winds, and on the heels of a silver knight so familiar to them they find chaos.

It is easy for them to take a stance beside Cuff. Not close enough to assume familiarity, but enough she would know their presence - a solid shadow come to their dimension, watching the activity with the devils eyes. Some there they recognize - Azuhel, the Dragon, her family around her like a treasured hoard. Shatter, black and sharp, and her brood about her feet like snakes. And there, Lynx, the cat lithe in her stalk to another, both tense. Aspen rushes towards Cuff’s side and they spare a moment to watch her whisper saftey into his ear.

They are a solitary creature. They do not know anyone else, and they don't have any heart in the politics that rule this land. They don't understand the shifting tide, only know it shifts, and as words are tossed like spears they look to see what the dark knight does and her expression is not comforting to the deaf wolf.

They cannot hear the thunder, but they feel it in their bones, and they watch Cuff kiss the ground and think it’s so ugly - she bows but does her head really touch the ground? - and they watch the teeth open up to howl armageddon, praises and pledges and Seir watches in silence.

The weak are devoured, and all is quiet.

[Gideon]

Did time have meaning in a lifeless jungle?

It rotted, as it had always rotted, as it would continue to rot; it stunk of mildew and hummed with botflies – it dripped with a substance more viscous than water. It had been, it is, it will continue to be: a festering sore, an open wound, a vivisected belly crawling with maggots. If Mother had taught him anything it was his history, proud and long, represented by a lost father and a golden kingdom he, last in a line of many, of none, would never restore – like his father, and his father’s father, doomed to crumble, doomed to rot – and Alteron had not changed in the months, weeks, days, hours he had been separate from it, as though time had molded him from the boy he had been into the rangy adult he was now but had left no mark upon the soil around him, or the ancient, dying trees.

Gideon obeyed the Dragon’s summons. The day had never come that he could call her, as was either right or proper; instead he had been meant for obscurity from the start, a puppet not even fit to shore up her rule, neither shadow nor ghost as Ajax had managed but something worse, still, something hollow. He was Alteron. No matter what she said – no matter the broods she spat out, season after season, from her loins or the loins of her subjects – Gideon was Alteron more than they could be, felt the sickness of it in his very bones in a way none of their vacant and glassy-eyed faces could, felt it slithering beneath his intact skin like snakes or worms or larvae. This was Alteron. Alteron was the slow and staccato beating of his heart. Alteron was the place behind his ribs where he knew fear should reside. Alteron was the blood in his veins that cooled like its breezes, like its sap, like the dead, black heart of the log at the center of the wood.

And the Sovereign wondered, briefly, if he should be more frightened of dying.

She had taken that from him, too, hadn’t she – the same night she reassured him he would never be her son, would never be regarded as highly as her own flesh and blood—? Is he different, then, from the slave they had sacrificed, grinning, to the fire and to their rightful queen; had the Dragon ever meant him, or any of their lessons, as more than a bleak metaphor? She glimmered above him, rusty red and gold, but it was no longer the blue doe eyes of a child that watched her, unblinking, from the black earth below. (Were those eyes, too, the eyes of Alteron, deep pits and dark sockets with a lifelessness to match the ground itself—? What measure of possession did he have left, when Azuhel had transmuted the very soil to her whim?) The crowd around him hollered, hungry, ignorant, and Gideon ascended to his position: beside Anya, at her shoulder, as he had always belonged, as he always had been, as he always would be.

(Would the Dragon feed them both to the ravenous mouth she had created in her image, spitting flames?)

Alteron was not the way his pulse quickened. Alteron was not the coward still alive in his chest despite his blank and dismissive stare. Alteron was not what he had been raised to know – Alteron was cries of Sovereign, and of Red Dragon, and Alteron was as synonymous with Azuhel as she herself was with his birthright, his rank, his title—

But nothing struck him as profoundly as the dim little boy so beneath him, shrieking at Mother, thinking he belonged. Gideon watched, curious, regarding the youth with the same effortless detachment that had once held the potential to command armies – and that did not mind, now, that he never would again, so long as the heat that rose in his veins might be satisfied. He was a boy himself when Alteron’s crown had been laid upon his head, all empty sockets and branching horns. He had been no older when he had commanded Shatter to lay a sacrifice at his feet; he had been no wiser in his decree, all milk teeth and bravery, that his subjects be loyal, be kind.

A fool. But a lesser fool than the boy beneath him, and Gideon – with venom at his tongue, and a disdainful curl of his lip that looked, for the briefest moment, like an imitation of the royal son he had once intended to be – lifted his head to the gathered crowd with all the cold acceptance of a man already dead, and found the strength in his empty lungs to speak.

“Be silent,” and it did not matter that they howled for the Dragon before him, or that he understood the dark machinations of the cogs that turned about him. He tilted his head, curious, cold. They would not touch her. They would learn, as they had learned, as they would continue to learn. “Or I will silence you.”

He still had teeth enough for that.

[Cocytus]

The blue Herald was a quiet figure when he arrived, all warm smiles and lumbering footsteps and wild fur. He was an eager puzzle piece, an essential part and only one of many to arrive, there to take part in a grand picture that could not be completed until all were set in their proper places in the end.

It was Caesar who he ultimately chose to stand near after easing his way through the crowd. Caesar who he regarded briefly before turning away to study everyone else. There were many faces gathered there who he unabashedly stared at—people that he both recognized and did not. They were the faces of the blessed, the wicked, and the unknown. All of them there to answer one call. All of them there for one reason.

Eventually, it was his mother that his warm eyes finally found. His mother, who's blood tamed fires and forged legends. His mother, who burned brighter, fiercer, than anyone there. His mother, who watched them all now, who prepared to make history once again.

Flicking his long tail, Cocytus shook out his ruffled pelt and panted lightly, the ever present smile on his face only growing larger the longer he continued to watch as the people around him dropped their heads and pledged their allegiances to his mother. It was an inspiring image, and an undoubtedly beautiful one, and Cocytus couldn't recall a time where he'd ever felt prouder. Happier.

(The pressure of family and duty was a heavy weight to bear, but it made him content.)

His smile didn't change, but something eventually did, something in the air around him gradually shifting as he turned his head, slowly, easily, watching Anya and Gideon join and stand together, side by side, each of them two weapons, two swords. Both as cold and sharp as ash in winter. They spoke and it was intriguing to hear. Intriguing to see what would happen in the silence following the young man's words.

Standing patiently, Cocytus did not intervene and he did not speak.

He simply turned back to his mother, still smiling, and waited.

(Nearby, a golden wolf arrived and stood by his family, watching everything through sharp eyes singed by fire and rage.)

[Izanagi]

Massive teeth snapped down with a harsh crunch, crunch, crunch on the frail form of a once squawking bird. Had she been a more cautious frightened sort, she might have worried about the splattering of feathers that covered the lower half of her maw or the slight blood that dripped onto the dew-moist ground around spread digits.

She wasn’t, of course. For, what her cousin didn’t see wouldn’t hurt Izanagi, certainly, but it wasn’t as if the birds were entirely off limits to consumption and she’d swore she might have seen another wolf of darker pelts eat one too…

Ah well, she didn’t intend on being cau—

Then a call, loud a commanding and Izanagi just knew there wasn’t going to be time for any bathing among the soothing Alchemist Tower waters. Inconvenient that. But she came either way, lumbering forward with flared nostrils and feathers stuck among the thicker clumps of her pelt that just screeched something wild and…

Maybe she should have groomed before her arrival. She hadn’t known so many wolves would be there, crowded about Azuhel who settled on her throne of mixed matched morals and schemes.

But that was fine, since she was slinking through the crowd, spotting an angry Ollie—and oh how she suddenly missed her husbands, the missing one and the grey one, whom she made sure to keep company while he moaned and groaned in his cell—and various wriggling babies that belonged to Azuhel and… in some way, belonged to her.

Blood was blood, after all.

But it’s really the display of those individuals, few in number, that seem keen on standing beside a figure she hasn’t seen much of before. That’s the interesting part of the meeting, no doubt.

The very interesting part.

---

Koko thought it was awfully cold that morning. She thought that, despite the pelts she pulled tight around her, that dread curled nastily in her belly and stole away her warmth while her bones rattled—trembling…

Something was off.

It’s not the absence of Lynx, though she is somewhat irritated about that, considering she has to track down the cat so often and… well, she does like to sulk and glower at the bottom of trees she thinks the cat is in but… it’s something…

Maybe it’s the haunting call of her mother, shifting through the swaying canopy and startling the birds? Either way, she doesn’t have time to think much about it, not when there’s a pressing urgency within her. Something that has to do with the way the morning is—all icky, in her opinion—than the call itself.

Dread is just churning away in her, so that could have been a bit of her sour mood to.

Still, it is nice to see Lynx and she’s just about to approach when the cat turns to stand by someone else, all proud and… What is that? What is this?

Her lips pull down in a envious frown. Her muscles tight, her breath a soft hiss through her clenched teeth—

What are you doing? Her gaze screams, who are you with? Get away from her!

Lynx should be over here with hEr! Not next to that oThEr.

Her fur is puffed out, her petulance is clear, but there’s something else rattling about in that brain that had everything to do with obsession and hoarding and—

LyNx, lYnX? Lynx! LYNX!

That look on her face. That almost brave posture. Was that concern in the cat? Care? Had she ever been looked at like that? Even though she’d given Lynx so many gifts of meat, flesh, and—

Goodness! She is just so very displeased with her!

---

Rosewood was not happy.

No, that’s not a fair assessment. She is rarely happy. Her emotional range had always been stunted, rubbed raw by a desperate attempt to be better than them. The wolves. It had been corrupted by servitude, twisted by beings that claimed to own and control her and her own lack of ability to escape the metaphorical vines that kept her tethered to court. She’d been domesticated in a manner she could hardly explain, and she felt it had everything to do with shifting shadows and monsters of will than her own lack of inner strength and mental fortitude.

But, well, she could admit that she was sick, sick enough to fall and drown in the illusion of power and choice that Shatter weaved. So, it was difficult to justify not remaining a pretty piece of treasure among her bone scattered den.

At least she was clean.

So, she came after her family, with brighter eyes that still humbled the storms of indignation and stolen loyalty. She hated them, their little family. She loved them too, in a way that felt wrong but to deny that she was a kaleidoscope of rattling feelings would have been… foolish.

She was just as much wrapped up in them as they were in her, she hoped.

So, much so that she scarcely noticed she’d taken place beside her lord Antaeus. Mostly, she was there to keep an eye on the little whelps they’d brought with them, and despite being tiny and slight, she wouldn’t hesitate to nip and step on them if they tried to wriggle away—

Ack, the fat one was running his mouth!

So much for keeping a low profile, but her wand to just silently observe and inwardly cackle won’t keep her from reaching out a paw to try and step on him and then draaaaag his plump little body back to her as she spared only a momentary glance at any who might have tried to address him and his mouth.

It wasn’t her place to do much more than that, but she did display her aristocratic sneer of irritation.

She won’t give them anything else.

[Kaede]

Ah, so there it was. She had not had much chance to catch up with her dear sister yet, but Kaede was no fool - she knew that Azuhel would not be living in this jungle without a purpose. Always scheming, that one, though of course she'd learned from the best. If only Azuhel had thought to seek her counsel before calling this treacherous meeting; the little sister had always been so confident. It had worked out for her so far, Kaede conceded - perhaps that was what attracted so many to her. And there were so many here today, bowing and slavering like mindless minions that Azuhel so loved to collect. Kaede had always had more refined tastes, but she could appreciate the cries of loyalty and sovereignty. Everyone likes to be celebrated, and she wanted her sister to be happy. Happy people were so much more fulfilling to watch.

She stationed herself in the middle of the crowd, positioning herself perfectly so that she could stare directly at Azuhel. She was here for reassurance, of course - nothing sinister at all! But she did want Azuhel to know she was here. Watching. She recognized few faces here, and she had no doubt that most did not even bother to give her a glance. Although the family resemblance was spattered all over her coat and punctuated by her eerie blue eyes, she was otherwise quiet and unassuming. Somehow she doubted Azuhel had told anyone about her, and she wasn't yet sure how much blood truly meant in this pack. As the plebeians around her screamed for their Sovereign and disregarded the two unfamiliar wolves who she presumed had once been royalty, she supposed that blood must not have been very important at all.

She watched Anya and Gideon with interest, wondering how they felt now that their purpose had been served. Had they ever truly believed that Azuhel had meant for them to reign? She looked at the child - had he ever believed that Azuhel had loved him? Kaede wanted to know more about this story, but it seemed as though that opportunity was coming to a close. If only her sister hadn't made it so difficult to find her, she could have been here much earlier. She was almost impressed by how far Azuhel had gotten without her guidance, but bold moves like a public coup were certainly toeing the line of rationality. She wondered if this was to become an execution as well; she didn't think that would be wise. But how to advise Azuhel now, while she sat among the peasants? For a moment, she felt a flare of something close to annoyance - but it was quickly suppressed. Now was not the time for emotions. She needed her wits about her to make sure her sister did not get carried away.

"How quickly they turn on their old rulers," she mused, blue eyes boring directly into Azuhel's own. She wasn't sure if the crowd would hear her above their own wailing, but she needed her sister to hear. "Does this bode well for you?" She tilted her head down in something akin to a bow, gaze never breaking from her Sovereign. It was a show of respect, certainly, but they both knew what would happen if Azuhel tried to make Kaede bow.

[Warsaw]

"the wrath of the lamb!" the martyrs cry,
"break the seven seals, let the horsemen ride!"
the soldiers bear the royal crest and scream into the sky
"She will come She will come! the Dragon's on the rise!"

The smell of revolution was heavy in the air. It suffocated and burned, thick like smoke. It was undeniable. The Dragon's minions, they had all been ready. They infiltrated every vessel of Alteron's body, silent and deadly: a virus. They could be fought off no longer. The call summoned them all, little lambs and fiery dragonlings, and Warsaw was swift to find his place among the crowd.

With his brother's invitation, he settled next to Leviathan, pressing his shoulder against him affectionately, solidifying their unity even in the face of civil war. Leviathan was the only close blood-relative that mattered to him, the only one he even gave a thought to these days. He could see his birth mother among the hollerers, but his gaze was fleeting, disinterested. She was a pawn in a great chess set, no more important than any other piece, and far less exciting. There were other faces there - more pawns - with his adoptive parents, Shatter and Antaeus, and tiny would-be siblings among them. Mordred and Melek Taus barked their crude responses, every bit their mother's sons, and even nervous Jyggalag gave a small 'yip yip yap' of excitement, though he seemed more-or-less unable to put words to his emotions.

The orange eyes shot across the clearing as the figure that was presumably the Keystone stepped into the chaos. The tower crumbled before them as she spoke up, attempting to silence the ruckus, desperately clinging to the foundations of her pedestal. Her son was there too. Both demanded silence, with an authority they no longer held. Warsaw sneered.

"Your voice means nothing here, Keystone. Not any more." What was her name? Warsaw had never met her. Never seen her rule. Never felt her power. His eyes turned to their former Sovereign, a boy who couldn't have been much older than him. There was an ounce of pity in Warsaw's heart, ever an empathetic soul, but he quickly silenced it in favour of admonition.

Gideon had teeth enough. Warsaw had them too.

He swung, jaws gaping as he threw a sharp, shearing bite at the former Boy-King's face. He aimed for the eyes, which, if he met his mark, he would attempt to tear out, wet and slippery, waiting for the satisfying pop that would indicate he'd found purchase. Otherwise, he would simply look to tear into the young man's face, to mar it and mark it. A reminder of what the poor fool had lost.

[Miasma]

   Like the forest maze, never-ending. Miasma does not come to answer, or for the way the canopy splits to bathe this spot in light, like the promised land-- she came because Crow did; because he here and he is where she belongs. None of her siblings left Death Valley for him. None of them love him quite so much.

   Her father's eyes fall heavy on the Dragon, and Miasma skirts as close to his side as he will allow. Crow has many children (Miasma not among them), in the Valley and beyond. Miasma wonders how many of the dark young wolves here share his blood. The competition hits her like the smell of rot. His bad eye is the only one she sees from here, and Azuhel possesses one as well.

   This is the Red Dragon they were so afraid of? It's not that she underwhelms expectations, but that she is... real. The storybook monster made flesh, with children of her own, and a plethora of fanatical wolves at her disposal, ready to rip the eyes from a young man, willing to bend a boy's knee for him, lest they break. Like a Rosa's entire following, thrice over, contained in one body. Where does she hide her wings?

   Miasma looks to Crow, (her father, her father, hER FATHER), mimics best she can. If he does not attack, neither will she. If he only watches, then Miasma stares on, and learns.

[Azuhel]

She stepped down from her self-claimed throne to be among them. Physically. Metaphorically. She placed herself on even ground, a creature of the earth—just as they were—calmed and soothed by the rays of the beating sun upon her pelt. This was not the first time Azuhel had greeted the rising dawn. She suspected it wouldn’t be the last either. Who was she, some animal made of meat and bones, to claim that her control was endless? Hadn’t Rapier thought the same? Fat and heavy on power, munching and munching and munching until her paws had become to fat to properly hold their leashes? What of Scimitar, with his crystal sepctar and sharp wit? Or Arith? Or Dark? Or Ajax?

Gone, gone, gone, gone.

So that left Azuhel to do the work, to burry the bones, to tend the fires and hope with what little her core was capable of that she would not, someday, find herself a beast fit for slaughter brought to the very tip of Alteron proper so that she could stare down at the shifting trees and rocks while she fell fell fell fell fell—

Until she splattered on the earth she coveted and became one with the muck.

But, that was a very small grievance among her tiny island of fears. Death was irrelevant. Delusion screeched that she’d be reborn, that her bloodlines hummed thick and heavy through the bulk of Alteron like so so so much poison. Sweet and heady, corruptive. If jaws found themselves about her neck, if the burden of her gobbled authority pushed upon her being, she would crumble—all smiles, always smiling—and scream worship to the heavens as she did so.

Let them take her. It would do little. Her wretched dragons could burn and eat and hunger just as well as she could.

But that was neither here nor there. Today was not the day she would tumble off the edge of cliffs or find her blood moisture for her farms. Today was the day she would bring about new order, breaking the constant flimsy web of lies she had spun… before she twisted better ones out of steel, to be covered with pretty glass—

Just incase she had to break them again, you see.

“Orcrist,” she drawled, seated beside him, proud of his distinction and the wealth he’d managed for himself. A wealth she had no issue acknowledging as they waited to greet the collective together, “Lord Orcrist, that is. Good morn’ tah you as well.”

Because he was noble, even if his father wasn’t. Even if he was born from kings and queens and conquerors that had been little more than fodder for the masses. Scimitar and Rapier’s sins wouldn’t be his own, not during their rebirth.

Not until she needed those sins again.

But he was not the only wolf that would need her attention today, nor was he the last. With only a sly grin of recognition to share between them she’d soon turn her attention back to the gathering collective, noting with pleasure as faces made themselves apparent.

Until, he arrived, the crumbled Tower, patched back up with mud and sticks and a better, if not as lustrous, foundation. Interesting, that. Would she have noticed him lurking on the edges of the empire, watching with the emptiness of those forgotten? Of those who thought themselves so much better despite the lack of flame and ambition?

Did it matter, really, in the end? Since her gaze was upon him as soon as Shatter arrived, a strutting soldier whose inner being burned and burned and burned?

So much like her own, really.

And she growled, spoke with all the authority Azuhel had granted her. Spoke with the familiarity of those who had no rules, no true law to follow, unless she bore it. There was a reason Azuhel had found it imperative to capture her, to tighten the chains of servitude and craft a grand vassal out of a once wayward ball of simplistic ire. But now, now Shatter was a forge, open and yawning and heated. Azuhel figured she could push a great deal of those rough-edged predators toward the other and hope for something more refined to be spat out the other end.

Dead or polished.

And she made Lemieux bow while she cried to the skies—Sovereign, Sovereign, Sovereign.

of course, Lemieux announced, long live the sovereign

and was he being truthful, this worshipper of someone long gone, this wolf who had been abandoned and left to endure madness and solitude alone…

did it matter…

It mattered about as much as whatever the people found cause to call her. Sovereign. Dragon. Lord. Or Lady. Meaningless, words, drivel. She considered herself the Dominus in her mind, the top of the top of the top—romanticism and poetry, all of it. But they could call her anything, Azuhel or otherwise, so long as they bowed.

Because, eventually, they would pray as well.

She shifted her gaze from Shatter, from Lemieux. From her returned daughter—Oktober—and then to Sarissa.

Who was always talkative, wasn’t she?

Sarissa claimed a lack of sincerity from the former Eye, and Azuhel only gave a soft rumble of chest—a chuckle, perhaps absorbed by the overall crowd as they began to shuffle forward—at the idea of it. Whether he was true to himself or not, she didn’t think him the sort of wish for… destruction among the populous.

But she wouldn’t be the one to condemn him to further theatrics. She had another purpose here today, “If the Viscount and the Commandant believe he isn’t sincere, then perhaps they could fix that.”

She’d leave it up to them to figure out how.

After all, it was their task to sniff out danger wasn’t it?

So that she could focus on more grand ideals?

“Thank you, Caesar.” Azuhel resumed her polite greetings, attention expanded, as these particular meetings could get full and complicated the more bodies wriggled into them.

Her grandchildren, his children, began to wander in perhaps to young to understand the true implications of the moment—unless Atlas children—but old enough to witness. It was a good thing the bulk of them were currently out of the way, no need for any of them to get hurt if--

“Ah,” Azuhel drawled, “and what is this?”

Piper came before her with a bundle of… surprises! They were delightful and appreciated, naturally. Grand. Further staples of the mantel she would eagerly wear, even if it crushed her, she supposed.

“I appreciate this, more than words can say.”

And it was all very sincere. Azuhel adored the lantern and the pelt offering. Furthermore, she enjoyed the impact she’d made on Piper’s life, for her to feel the obligation to gift her in such a way was… well, very enjoyable. “Whatever you need to further your trade please let me know.”

Let it be known that Azuhel was generous. Every civilization needed a lure, after all.

But still they came, and as they did so, Azuhel became more at attention. Her accent slipped into that general state of southern regality, the voice of the educated and proper. She had an empire to establish, a reign to press down upon them, a culture to… cultivate and a sense of inventive progressive academia to impart.

She’d carry them all, any who asked, any who begged, into a new order of prosperity, on her back if she had to.

A wolf likened to a son appeared, black pelted and attentive right behind an eager citizen, whose cries also joined the call of Dragon. But it’s the roar of Antaeus that makes her smile some wide eager passionate thing that doesn’t quite reach her gaze until…

he’s here, he’s here—

Her mind is a mantra of obsession and a hard knock rattles at the cage of her mentality, at her heart, at her very being when she spies Crow slip among them. And for a moment, ichor drips into her gaze—frenzied darkness, of memories shared, of conversations that dwelled well enough the night and the thick cloying smell of burning flesh lingering among dark pockets of smoke. He was but one figure among her most precious, but that made him no less important. She wanted him to see her, and oh how she wished he would up to her and bow and kiss her wriggling toes.

But he didn’t, and she wouldn’t make him.

He’d bowed to her a long time ago.

So she met his gaze then let it slid away, back to the chilling calculation she needed to express to hold court, and that was what it was… court.

A child—her own—calls her name and another just as well, but it isn’t until Anya appears that all other voices seem to fade into the background. After all, Anya is the woman of the hour, the princess, the remaining unblemished spot on a hierarchy fated to crumble.

But she can fix that, or maybe Anya can dirty herself all on her own.

She tries to silence the cheering, to command silence so that she can speak. It’s enough to make Azuhel give a tilt of her head and a twitch of ear as she swings her gaze over to the girl, the nameless ruler, the key in the stone.

There’s a stutter in the sounds around them, not surprising. Perhaps, those of the bold and loyal, hadn’t expected Anya to command ]anything of them. What right did she have to do so? What gifts had she given? What blood had she bled? What acts had she done—

Oh, there was something she’d done though, a grand act, a perfectly placed lie. The only thing Anya had had to do was play her part, and she did for a time… but when had she become this, this obstacle on the other end of snarling teeth? Azuhel kept a cordial expression, it wouldn’t do well to be seen acting the savage or ruffled, but she does attempt to toss a look to Anya’s father.

She hasn’t forgotten the promise she made him.

But the people have done no such thing.

Incubus taking of the children away from wrestling about her feet is welcome. She’d only toss him a brief look to let him know he was thankful before she turned back to the matter at hand. If there was blood, if she was attacked, then she’d prefer not to crush her own children with her bulk.

Then the first outcry, brought by the young adult Oleander, who she had promised his enemies agony. He spoke with all the outrage she had predicted he would, for Orc’s children—and, maybe she should have warned him of Atlas sense of otherness—had no doubt inherited a bit of a temper. She couldn’t be entirely blamed for that, could she?

And Atlas, bless her angry soul, was already baring her teeth at Anya.

Perfect, perfect. Let the anger boil over. Let their worship spiral out of control.

She’d feed the mob if she needed to. She enjoyed the… chaos of it.

But in that same moment the cat quickly moves to Anya’s side, readied. There’s no mistaking that action, not among the crowd of worshipers, not when others have bowed or otherwise proved their worth. It was a clear action, one that screeched of the side she’d taken, but Azuhel had known Lynx was never hers, and she is neither hurt nor surprised by the act.

So, with a soft smile—cold and unkind—she’d say, “Traitor.”

Because she’d always known that cat couldn’t be one of them.

One with Alteron.

The cheer starts up again, done by Tarun as he threw himself at her feet but she is watching the giant bear hobble in, and the look she gives Orc once that happens is a bit bewildered. What’s all this? But the beer introduces himself and then sits behind Anya of all people.

Still, she’s always polite. “Hello Rooter.” She’d greet him nonetheless.

More are speaking, a grandchild to back up another grandchild before he cried her name. It was all very appropriate, especially as more came to follow and—

“Cuff,”

Just her name. A short greeting. You can’t hide from her.

But really, it isn’t the incoming Cocytus, other family members, or even Kaede that grip her attention after that.

(and while, in another time, in another place, she would have responded with a cocky grin and a whispered ‘oh yes yes yes, this does bode well, very well indeed’ she just doesn’t have the time for it now)

It’s precious Gideon that comes forward then, angry and rightfully so at the calls of her bloodline.

And she’s oh so certain that his statement is going to go unmet, and that soon it’ll be her time to truly speak but well… Warsaw was never one to hold back, to watch disrespect flow about him and those he’d claimed and, she can’t be upset or even surprised when he lunges at the group—

Those that had once been rulers now turned treasonous and worthless.

So she’ll stand abruptly then, knowing that now was the time for pent up aggression and a lack of restraint. That should would test her first order and see who listened and who did not. How many would burn for their pride… if they could catch them?

Her words are short—

“Restrain the Keystone and the boy”

No longer a king or anything else, just another failed project sticking close to another. If she'd been honest. If she'd had time to think, to introspect the anger that rolled in her chest and sent blood to her limbs, she might have realized she was... envious. Hated how The Boy stuck to Anya. Hated how he'd always seemed more akin to her, more like her, to innocent, to wide-eyed--

She hurt, in the way the maddened and crazed hurt. In the way a child hurt when they didn't completely own a toy. When a pet liked another better. But she didn't let it show because she couldn't name it, didn't realize that was why her gaze narrowed and her muzzle wrinkled. So she ignored it, let those shifting shadows of her gaze just shift to a slowly boiling fury as Anya stole this possession from her selfish and greedy embrace.

What they did with anyone else was their choice and once and if they moved to action, she’d say—loud enough to hopefully be heard—

“Don’t maim the boy.”

But causing him pain and torn flesh for his waggling tone? She hadn’t said no to that.

That is my only gift to you, Anya. Nothing else.

---

summary:

addressed as many as possible
let orc and shatter know they could do whatever they wanted with lem if they thought he was insincere
wagged tail at crow and family
went 'wtf' at the giant bear
stood up in defensive mode once warsaw struck out at gideon
ordered the pack to restrain anya and gideon
ordered the pack not to seriously maim gideon (also, don't do anything to his pretty tail, if you can grab his wriggling butt him you can beat him up)
deadline: November 7th (shorter if everyone posts)

this thread is now closed (unless Zasha wants in) to newcomers