A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

He seemed to have materialized in Boreas once again as though he had never left its shores at all. The walking man, as genteel as ever, stood at the border of the freshly risen pack and cried to be greeted, his golden companion chittering joyfully as they waited. Even at the base of the billowing mountain, he could feel the all too familiar pull of something else not something that had always existed there but something that had been carried like a pestilence and had set down its roots. There was a great power within this pack's land, he knew it, he could practically smell it, and for once in the man’s life he felt the glorious tug of a higher purpose; something he had sought but had never fully been able grasp.

He remained standing a wide grin on his face as he heard the distant mutterings of unfamiliar spirits. His gods did not belong here but he felt no shame in casting them off as easily. His paws flexed and grasped at the pebbled floor, sinking into the heat rising beneath him. His gods were nothing compared to what had taken residence in these lands. For a brief second he looked into the distant mouth of the volcano and saw it gush blood like a geyser, forming a river that rolled down the mountainside. Then it was gone. A raw shiver ran through him his smile widening, Bon Temps gave a curious hoot at his companion’s sudden excitement, and the violet man shook out his fur in response. “Don’t you worry Cher,” He purred. “I’m just settlin’ in to our new home is all.” The baboon gave a wide approving grin, showing his massive fangs contrasted against the dark skin of his face. “ǝɯoH” A voice that wasn’t his own whispered into his mind and as if confirming the priest muttered a proud “Home” in response.