One of his kids had mentioned that a pack had taken up residence in the ragged mountains of the east, and that they seemed fond of his brand of violence. As age crept up on him, the celestial giant was beginning to wonder if he should return to pack life. As long as the pack was somewhere with nice weather (read: cold as a witch's tits and just as inviting) and didn't mind his genetic predisposition towards being a bastard. So, why not go see what was going on? He hauled himself from the familiar woods of the north and made the trek to the foothills of the mountain range that most knew as Fenrir's Maw. He remembered old tales of a wolf with a similar name in his early years, but not many of the details had stuck around this long. Either way, it felt like a good omen. There was no way in hell he was climbing any mountains just to ask if they'd take pity on a relic like himself and offer a home in exchange for whatever amounted to wisdom that might be rattling around his thick skull. Instead, the brightly hued goliath tipped back his head and loosed a booming howl that would echo for miles, drawing attention from all sorts and prompting only a few brave souls to investigate. The crow that continued to follow him at every turn alit upon the snow beside him, hopping up to his flank and tugging at the thick fur of his belly with a painfully sharp beak. He swatted at it absently with one oversized paw, prompting it to flap-hop-skitter a few feet away with a squawk of protest. With a long suffering sigh, he dropped onto his haunches to wait for someone to come and investigate the stranger at the borders. He assumed it would be soon, marauders weren't exactly the type to entertain potential infiltration. ""

The viking king doesn't take kindly to intruders, now even less-so than usual. There was something out there. Something in the woods, something that was trying to snatch them up and steal them away. Too many things that went bump in the night, but then, so did Víðarr. He had to be scarier than all of those things combined if he was going to hold his home in his clutches. If he was going to keep them safe. By the gods, he would keep them safe. It's all he knows. But right, the question of a stranger. This one... well, the viking king finds his eyebrows lifting. He's colored so loudly. It's not unlike Tove, wrapped in the starry skies above. Víðarr's brow furrowed as he moved to greet the stranger, curious. It would be poor manners to turn away a stranger in need, especially in winter. What did he want? Well, they could sort that out inside, true enough. "Come out of the cold, you can tell me who you are and why you come." There was little room for argument in the viking king's tone, an eyebrow lifted as he looks to the stranger. Víðarr

The man who approached was quite distinctly his polar opposite, cloaked in the pitch dark hues of an overcast midnight sky. Those eyes though.. twinkling stars in their own right. Without a word of question, he was invited into the safety of the borders and the warmth of a community space. And so the aging titan got back to his paws, shook a few errant flakes of snow away, and trundled along after the unfamiliar ruler. They remained quiet, though the silence they shared was not strained or tense as they moved. The caverns and alcoves of the ragged peaks came into focus as they drew nearer, and he remained mute until the dark king chose a spot out of the cold for them to settle. Once again the cosmic giant settled onto his haunches, a flicker of one ear towards the nearby outdoors as he heard that damned crow kick up a ruckus nearby. Without sparing time with pleasantries, he dipped his chin in a curt nod of thanks. "Your hospitality is appreciated." he grunted, rolling his shoulders absently against the stiffness that had begun to build there as the days passed. "I won't waste your time, Jarl. My name is Deion Aeris." he used the colloquialism out of respect, he knew the packs all chose their own names and titles at a whim. "My children are old enough to make their own choices, and so I do not feel the need to hover about the den any longer." the words passed his lips with a grim, bittersweet humour. The brats would be fine on their own, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be too far from where he'd raised them... just in case. "I am also old now." he said, flexing his wrist for emphasis so that the subtle crack of the joint could punctuate the admission. "The security of a pack would make my remaining years easier." there was a caution in his expression, carefully guarding his emotions and presenting a neutral, dispassionate mask for the stranger. He didn't want to admit to anything resembling hope. The brightly hued brute squared his shoulders, searched the dark features of the unfamiliar king as he bit the bullet and asked the big question. "If you can spare the resources, I can still earn my keep." ""