Lefty made good pace.

She kept her head down, against the biting wind and thick-flurried snow. The dark shape she cut against the landscape-- she stood out. Nobody could miss her approach.

Another lone wolf had told her of a pack in the Col, in the woods. A hardy bunch, they sounded like. Lefty barreled through the thick snow, her tail up, March stalwartly traveling beside her. The wolverine had bloody fur on her face from a meal, but neither of them steamed with fresh gore.

As she neared the borders, Lefty threw her head back and howled -- a singular long, powerful note that struggled against the blizzard-like weather. She tried to make it sound clear--"Hail, pack of the Woods and Mountains! I am a traveler seeking acceptance!" -- but she wasn't sure if it carried right at all.

I can't destroy what isn't there

The Warlord read the approaching storm on the horizon. He knew the signs, thanks to the teachings Keahi had passed on to him. It was a part of her that would remain, even through the rest of her had passed on to whatever waited beyond. Storms held many memories for the Warlord. He had first fallen in love with his late Wife, thanks to a storm. He had bonded with Keahi over thunder clouds.

He remained at First Light Point for longer then was safe, watching the flurry of white as it rolled ever closer. It poured over the Armada, casting the world in white. There was a high chance he would have remained there for a long time yet, but a call summoned him to the border. He tilted his head, surprised at the sound. Shaking snow from his coat, he made his way down the treacherously slippery path, and towards the border of the Col.

He found the wolf that had come with the storm. Layered in colours of winter, in blues and whites. She was damp where the snow had melted against her body heat, but she held herself with grace. “Welcome to the Armada, stranger. I am Sirius Fatalis, It’s Warlord. If you wish to join with mine, tell me, what strengths do you bring to us?”


"Speech"

Lefty shook out her coat out of habit. There was no chance of the cold leaving her now, of course. Instead, Lefty made the motion to comfort themselves. This was a big deal to them and they didn't quite know how to address it. Before, they had been... a follower.

As the Warlord approached-- as he introduced himself-- Lefty bowed, sharp. Deep. Her head bowed. Her chin touched the snow. March stared at her and then tried to imitate the motion. It was clumsy.

She stood straight. "I am Lefty Brennenburg-- birth name Lucretia, if it makes a difference. I was, before, a Knight. I fought in war, and I spoke for more than myself." She gestured to March. "This is March, my companion. We tussled, when we first met."

Ears flicked.

"I could show you my skill, if you wished. I have no blade, but -- I could."

I can't destroy what isn't there

The Warlord did not react to her deep bow. He did not require it of his wolves, but he understood that those that came to him had lived very different lives before they found their way to the Armada. She introduced herself, and gave him some idea of where she had come from. A knight, who spoke with the weight of those she served? He was painfully short on Diplomats these days. It was a position that did not seem to remain filled, no matter how often he tried.

[color=#17a7d1 “Well met, Lefty. So you have been trained to fight.”[/color] He would test her on that in time. [color=#17a7d1 “Tell me more about how you spoke on behalf of others. What training have you had in diplomacy?” [/color]


"Speech"

He wished to know of her diplomatic training? Lefty's gaze burned with a sudden, pleased fire-- he had asked about the right thing. She cleared her throat and parted her forepaws, tail wagging slightly.

"My good sir, I took great pleasure in my diplomatic lessons! I learned how to assuage the raging wolf, and how to temper my words -- how to best deliver bad news, so as to blunt the pain of those who hear it. I learned of the tactical choices one must make when speaking to others--!" Something in their smile and the twinkle in their eye hinted at their choice to approach now, during this weather, being entirely deliberate-- a show of their strength and means. Lefty gave a little flourish with a paw. "Diplomacy is a battle of words, after all!" They looked pleased, and their excitement was evident on their frame, in the way they moved.

The Warlord watched her closely, ignoring the snow that billowed around them. The Armada was still vulnerable, and even a storm wouldn't rush him into making a decision that would affect those he called his own. He observed the way her eyes sparked at his question. He had touched on a topic that interested her. A mark in her favour, though she wouldn't know it yet.


He huffed a soft laugh, and his own eyes showed his amusement. "Diplomacy is where battlefields go to die." He told her blandly, but then continued on. "But I am an old wolf, and if age has taught me anything, it's that not all battles have to end at the tips of my claws. As it so happens, I may have a need for you. But tell me, Lefty. Would it wrankle you to start at the bottom, and prove yourself?" A test. She did not even know how far the bottom lay.

He is, at least, amused, and that makes Lefty feel a bit better about this whole deal. In truth, they had been nervous about making their approach; they know that some wolves are more territorial than others, but the old wolf speaks with them in the tone of a general who is tried and true, and they appreciate that greatly.

"Precisely," Lefty says, tail wagging slightly. "If someone can navigate politics well, then they can cut off numerous fights before they ever happen." It's not condescending, or overly explanatory-- it is, instead, a relaxed comment, and Lefty tilts their head a little at the next question. They purse their lips a little, licking at their nose and considering his question. Then, they speak. "Would it rankle me? No. I am a stranger, and though I have prowess, it never hurts a leader to be cautious." Their head dips, just a little. "While I would hope to rise further, I will not protest if you would have me work from the bottom, first."

Their tone is honest, clear, and true. "That simply makes it all the better, when I rise." Not if. When. Confident, but not overly so.

"Speech"

Bold, confident. He liked it. She spoke her mind, and was unafraid, just what he liked in a diplomat. But was she willing to dedicate herself to the Armada, and grow with his pack? Only one way to find out. He grinned at her as she spoke, her words sealed a deal with the devil. There was no backing out now, he would ensure it.


He closed the distance between them with a lunge. There were no tells in his body, he went from stillness to movement with the surety of one who honed their body for survival. He might be old, but it would be a long time yet before his body failed him. He clamped his teeth into her scruff and pulled the smaller wolf over the scent markers, claiming her in that motion as his own. "Welcome to the Armada, Lefty. We'll soon see if this storm is an omen of your time here." He grinned at her, knowing full well she had picked the storm to make her approach. He already had big plans for his new diplomat, and how she handled herself in a dangerous situation - and how she wore the mantle of slave - would all be tests for her to overcome. "You will bear the rank of slave, and will report to my grandson Basilisk. Prove yourself, and you'll be free of this title before the season is out. I'm expecting big things from you." He looked down at her, and released his grip in her scruff, curious what she would do next.

His reaction is not at all expected. Sirius moves quickly, grasping Lefty by the scruff and hauling them across the border, past the scent marker, through it; they smell, for a moment, of Armada. As this happens, March, the wolverine, makes a furious screaming sound and charges forward to defend her companion -- but Lefty pivots, and whistles low behind her teeth.

"Tch! March! No. He isn't harming me. This is a challenge. A test." The wolverine made a confused noise, but calmed down immediately, squinting up at Sirius but not moving closer. Lefty did not sound disappointed. Instead, she seemed pleased-- and it echoed into her words. "Right in the thick of it! Thank you, Warlord. I will not let you down. I will meet the challenge as I meet the storm."

This, she knows, will be a promising trial. She is eager--

-- but first, she supposes, it is time to find this... Basilisk.

"Speech"

It was a good thing she told her companion to stand down. Seers bear had stepped out of the shadows of the storm and stood ready to wrestle the wolverine into compliance if necessary. She leaned back on two legs now instead, watching the scene unfold.


At her amusement the Warlord laughed again. A deep, booming laugh. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Lefty." He told her, pleased at her reaction, and mostly just annoying himself. As a father, and a grandfather, he didn't get to mess with others nearly enough anymore. "You'll find Bad in a tree house in the woods. Hard to miss it." He told her.

The bear came from the shadows, and Lefty laughed softly, nudging March with a paw. The warlord had a booming, pleasant laugh, and Lefty felt at ease; she had been brought in as a slave, but that didn't preclude her from rising in the ranks. It was clearly expected. A challenge had been issued. Lefty felt March brush up against her legs, a silent affirmation from her companion.

This sort of confidence was the kind that came only from experience; Lefty was used to having to claw her way from beneath the heap, anyway.

"We'll get on just fine. Would you prefer I find your grandson now, or would you like me to patrol with you?"Lefty posed the question amicably. Sirius could send her on her way if he so chose, but she wouldn't complain about getting to learn the terrain better, either. It was up to him. She knew her new rank, of course, and would snap to it if he wanted her to report to Basilisk.

"Speech"

I can't destroy what isn't there

She seemed far from worried, for a wolf newly taken as a slave. He had put teeth to her, dragging her across the scent markers. Despite that, she bounced back immediately, ready for the new challenge. Perhaps this Diplomat would remain, would be reliable. Only time would tell.

He considered her question for a moment, and then gestured with a sharp motion of his head. “Come with me, it’ll do you good to see the bounds of your new home.” He decided. He started to move then, stepping through the falling snow. He knew his territory like the back of his paw, and had no fear of losing his way. “This is the edge of the Col. to get further in, you have to enter it through the woods, or through the caves behind me. If you turn West from here, you’ll enter the Cove. These three territories belong to the Armada.” He explained, leading her East, towards the woods.

"Speech"

Lucky was not overly concerned -- she knew that life would probably be rough for a time, but this was a challenge. They had faced many challenges before; when they had been small, eyes open but still needing to drink from their mother, they had seen a battlefield and smelled rotten flesh. That was something that they would not forget.

Sirius allowed them to join him. Lefty thanked him, before following in his wake, glancing further into the Col. He told her of the territories of the Armada; they listened, keen to learn. "I see... very defensible. A siege would be troublesome for the offensive party, given the Col, and the weather of Boreas from what I've seen. I'd imagine it's rough territory for strangers, even in the summer." They observed this quietly, tagging along after Sirius. They travelled to the woods, Slave and Warlord, and Lefty kept eyes peeled. There was plenty to keep track of in the new territory.

"Speech"

I can't destroy what isn't there

“Good eye” The Warlord said, pleased with how quickly she had gained an overall perception on the pack's defences. That would be an asset as a Diplomat. Any territory he sent her into, he would expect a succinct report on anything that could be important. “As a slave, I’d expect you to den near Basilisk for now. Once you’ve risen in ranks, you’ll be able to choose a different spot. Many of our dens are in warrens in the Col that are heated by molten rock that runs under the earth.” He explained as they reached the trees.

The path he took led them through the outskirts of the forest. They would make their way around the territory on a patrol route before heading inwards. “Have you left much family behind, Lefty?” It was important to know what competition there might be for her loyalty.

"Speech"

Lefty dipped her head, her ears flicking back and then pinning forward. "I'll den by Basilisk, certainly. That'd been my plan-- but I'm glad I don't even have to ask." There's a relief to knowing what's expected of them, and Lefty focuses on that for a moment. They wonder about Basilisk, but suppose it would be ... perhaps a bit rude or beyond her expectations if she went to ask about Basilisk too much.

"Heated by magma? Sounds wonderful. Nice and toasty." But the Warlord then asks about her family, and her breath huffs from her, puffing out her nose. "My family isn't here. I had... mm. I was engaged to a woman, but I woke up here before we were even wed." She pins her ears back at the thought, then continues on. "No, this is a strange land-- and if I encountered my family again, I'd try to bring them into Armada, if anything. You're a strong leader, that much I know. And my family was... chaotic, at the best of times." Her parents hadn't been unkind, but...

well. There was often... conflict.

"Speech"

I can't destroy what isn't there

He glanced over to her as the question seemed to stall her temporarily. She spoke of an engagement, and family left behind. “The Armada is near capacity, and I do not tolerate divided loyalties.”< His voice was crisp, a warning. His attention turned fully to her, flicking across her face. Reading the expression there. Would he have an issue with her, later down the line? If he believed so, he could either cut her loose now, or keep her in the rank of slave, with little chance of improvement.

They had made good progress through the forest at that point. Normally, he would bring a new wolf to the Col by now, and give them what they needed to get situated. But this test would be for Basilisk as well. With Azure gone, Basilisk was next in line for the throne. What he did with a slave would be telling.

"Speech"

Her tongue runs over her teeth. Lefty tilts her head, a little, and meets Sirius' gaze. "As you shouldn't. The Armada is here, my family isn't. If they showed up--well. Let me phrase this delicately: my father took me to the scene of a slaughter as a youth." Nostrils flared. "I was ... young. Still at my mother's milk, then." Her tone had been friendly before, and still is now, but there's something there, something a bit... subdued, thinking about this.

"Those are the lessons I grew up under. I'd rather remain here, with the Armada." A slight glimpse at what had been, elsewhere. A deliberate showing that she had her very good reasons for being willing to turn her back on the family. "It is better to be judged by merit, anyhow." That, at least, was honest. Not that she had lied, but -- the relief in that tone could not be hidden.

Lefty exhales. "This is preferable." Lefty wondered, then, if Sirius knew the weight of noble blood. He seemed as if he might, but she wasn't sure. She could always tell him more later.

"Speech"

I can't destroy what isn't there

The Warlord would receive the assurances he desired. A good thing for Lefty, since it stayed the Warlord’s hand. However, she didn’t stop there. She continued to speak, and the Warlord’s eyes grew flinty. Over his long years, he had taken in many strays. Adopted wolves, called them his own. He had come across more than one pup that had been abused by undeserving parents. He could be a grumpy old asshole, but one truth would always hold.
He loved children.

“You belong to them no longer.” He said, a hint of a growl in his tone. No, she was his now. The possessive Warlord knew that if she did not wish to see her family, they would not get within a hundred yards of her. “Come.” He said, continuing on. The hint of fatherly rage already dying from his deep blue eyes. “If you turn directly into the woods from here, you’ll be on a straight path for the tree house. Do you wish to walk further, or meet your new Master?”


"Speech"

His fatherly rage flashed, and Lefty's ears didn't fold back. They fought the urge. They recognized what this was, and something quiet glittered in their eyes-- a gentle gratitude, unspoken. "Thank you, Warlord." She dipped her head again. Not as deeply as before, but Lefty felt it pertinent to do. Their paws shuffled and they inhaled.

Well-- he gave them the choice, and Lefty's ears did twitch this time. "I'll go to meet your grandson." Their tongue touched the roof of their mouth. "Thank you again. I... so just head -- this way?" Lefty gestured, and then, if Sirius told them, they'd head inward, towards Basilisk's den.

"Speech"

The Warlord's companion, Marshal, had come to fetch him. He had been on patrol at the tooth of the Col, where the territory met devils spout. He tilted his head towards the vulture, and frowned at the message. He knew his grandfather well enough to know the old man had something up his sleeve. He trotted back to his tree house, and waited by the ramp up into its depths. 


He wasn't left waiting long before a blue wolf trotted out from beneath the stretching tree trunks. He saw a glimpse of a white-tipped tail in the distance as its owner turned around and trotted away. Leaving him with his… new slave. What would Hazel think?


"Lefty, I presume? I'm Basilisk. Sirius has put me… in charge of you." He eyed the wolf half his size critically, trying to see in her what had led Sirius to this choice.