There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't mourn the loss of his child, the eldest son he shared with Deathbelle. He couldn't even bring himself to face the once-empress now, and confess the loss of their son. How it was his fault and fantasize about ways he could have prevented the accident. He would never be able to look at his other children again without seeing the face of his firstborn, bloodied and broken from their fall. Magnus was stupid to look away from the child for the split second that he had and never would he stop beating himself up over it. It hung heavy in his heart and on his mind, breaking him more and more every time he saw the flash of his young child's face in his memories.

He was close to where he used to call home, the place that welcomed him with open arms yet he chose to break laws and do exactly what he wasn't supposed to do. He couldn't even bring himself closer to the border than he already was, in fear of Sirius or some other high ranking wolf finding him and only making him feel worse. He deserved it, he knew, but he tried to avoid it the best he could. He missed the Armada though, but he was sure his time there was finished. He'd made his bed with them, and now it was time he lay in it. Between the loss of his home, his child, and the love of his life, Magnus was just a shell of the man he used to be now. His weight had dropped, his spirits too. There was little left of the man that once ran strong with the Armada.

The mangrove brought back pleasant memories although it had him living in the past. Sirius had found him and brought him home to the Armada here, he had hunted boars with Aslatiel here. He spent a lot of time was various members of the Armada here, so it made sense that he sought the place out to think about some fond memories. He wondered how Aslatiel was doing with her new rank, a rank she deserved much more than he, and how Mortis and Azure were doing with their training for leadership. The other children too, the new litter Sirius and Zee had been blessed with. Magnus wished he could have seen them grow up. In a lot of ways, he wished a lot of what happened in the last few months was only a dream. He would never stop loving Deathbelle, though if it wasn't for his love for her things wouldn't have changed so much. He wouldn't hate himself for the loss of their child.

There was a sound then, that broke him from his thoughts and got his focus on a moving shadow deep within the mangrove. Whatever it was, it was large, and his first impression was that of a bear. Another bear lurking close to the Armada. Magnus may not call the Armada home anymore, but he couldn't let a bear get too close without a fight first. He debated calling out to Sirius, or whoever may be close enough to hear his call, but decided not to in case it brought with it some other problems. With a quick step, Magnus stalked off after the looming shadow as it moved deeper within the mangrove.

Finding a place hidden amongst the foliage of the mangrove, Magnus studied the strange creature he realized now was not a bear. Similar in size, although shaped much like something else he'd seen maybe once or twice before. Were they called sloths? He wasn't sure. He watched it for a moment longer, but decided that regardless of what it was, it didn't need to be this close to the Armada. It certainly looked too big for him to kill alone, but maybe if he were lucky his starving belly would get a good meal out of this. He could only hope, anyway.

Lucky for him, he didn't travel anywhere anymore without his bracers and bear skin for protection just in case. Slipping the knife from the bracer that held it, he gripped it firmly between his jaws and lunged for the giant sloth, targeting it's hip for contact with the blade. As it made purchase, the giant animal wailed and swung back on Magnus but he had expected it and quickly jumped out of the way to avoid most of the force of it's swinging limb. The long, curved claws of the animal managed to snag him on the shoulder a bit causing a quick yelp, but he avoided most of the strength behind the slow attack. Going in for another slash with his blade, the giant animal was actually a lot faster than he expected and managed to smack him in the face with the curved claws before his knife could make contact. He would be the first to admit he was getting sloppy with his combat, but he certainly didn't expect the giant sloth to move faster than their smaller brethren.

Finding himself flat in the marsh of the mangrove, Magnus hurried to stand but the sticky mud made him move slower than he would have liked and kept it's grip on him as he tried to get free. As Magnus stood, the animal swiped yet again and captured his rear leg and pulled it from beneath him. Slipping back into the mud, the giant animal was enraged now and took advantage of the moment it had Magnus stuck back in the murky grip. Rising on its hind legs, the animal made a guttural noise and stomped at Magnus. And again. And again. And again. He felt the pressure on his rear limbs before he heard the unsettling cracking of bones that ultimately forced a loud yelp from his once clenched teeth. Magnus scrambled to get up and hopefully away from the animal, but giant sloth was quick to thwart his efforts and smack him upside the head, sending his skull straight into a nearby tree and knocking the poor man out. As he laid limp and unconscious in the mud, the giant sloth seemed content with it's work and slowly retreated into the shadows of the mangrove.

"Speech!"

TABLE CODE © SKELLE 2021

Black clouds lingered with the Warlord. There was no retribution, no revenge. There was no way to bring back what he had lost. He tried very, very hard not to think about what he had lost. There was plenty else for the Warlord to linger upon. Like the terrors that had led to him hurting Briar, or the injured look in Tamsyns eyes as she confessed to loving him. To Artorias, telling him to sodden take the leap if that was what he truly wanted. Of standing at the castles edge, and knowing how much he desired exactly that.

A part of him hated those he loved, those that tied him to the here and now and kept him from finding his way back to her.

Perhaps that was why he was stalking through the mangroves. Paws quiet on the damp soil, taking in the scents of the land. The large and strange creature that had taken up residence here had left its scent markers across the grove. It changed the game, from mindless pacing, to something more serious. The Warlord needed to know what it was that stalked near his lands. If there was something near-suicidal about his approach to war and battles now… well. Perhaps it was to be expected. He had always been a reckless fighter.

The scent of blood led him towards the bloody work of the creature. The Warlord frowned, familiar with the metallic tang on the air. A wolf he had known… but considered missing. Recluse had told him that this wolf had not made his way back to the Empress.

It did not take him long to find the scene, and at first the Warlord thought Magnus dead. blood splattered the surrounding area, and Sirius could see the crushed leg first and foremost. The stillness of the man's form aided his thinking - until he was not thinking any longer.

It did not matter that Mangus was no longer ‘his’ for he had been once, and Sirius Fatalis could not abide one more failure, one more death. Roaring like a territorial lion, he tore through the groves, and after the fading scent of the beast. He forgot his singed coat, and numerous stab wounds still healing along his body. He forgot everything, but the taste of blood. The reckless, angry Warlord fought head-first with the sloth. Perhaps it was only catching it by surprise that gave him the upper hand, or perhaps the Warlords anger had been unexpected.

He came back to himself, dripping gore, and spitting spinal bones from his fangs. He shook out his paws, through it did little to clean himself. Stepping off the body of his foe, blinking, coming back to himself, he realised he would live. A shame, but one that could not be helped.

He made his way back to Magnus, prepared to bury his dead, and found that his old Reaper lived still. He placed a paw over his head gently, examining the terrible wounds, and growled. “Mine. Now, and always. Never again will I lose what is mine.” He dragged the man home to the Armada, and had Mojito see to his wounds. He had a terrible injury to his head, and only time would tell if he ever woke again. Once his healer had finished patching up what he could, the Warlord paced back and forth outside the entrance of the den.

"Speech"