Charisma Checks Are My Favored Terrain

A clearing throat cause Sorenn to whirl about. The man who had come to greet him was not at all what he had been expecting, even down to the direction he'd approached from. Well, if that's not enough to make you nervous... Still. The ash-and-russet man had been born into a pack of hard wolves from an even harder land, and none of them had been terribly keen on 'manners.' So despite the fact that he was fairly certain he had walked into an ambush of some sort, he forced himself to reply in kind. "Well, I'd actually come to inquire about your pack." Sorenn cast a quick backwards glance towards the packlands, half-expecting to see warriors slinking out of the brush now that their alpha had cut off his escape.

"My name is Sorenn. I've travelled a long way to find a place that suited me better than where I come from. To be perfectly honest I cannot stand the heat of the lowlands, so I came north and found your border. Would you mind terribly if I asked you a question or two about your pack? Unless, of course, you're not looking for new additions. If that is the case I'll be on my way." He smiled, hoping the gesture came across as genuine. It was true enough that he had absolutely zero interest in pissing off an entire pack. That was suicidal, and Sorenn rather liked living. But then again, he also knew that packs sometimes left scraps behind for the less fortunate to pick at. Being 'on his way' didn't necessarily mean leaving, but this dark-coated male didn't really need to know that.

As long as he wasn't jumped, Sorenn decided he liked how this was going. Despite his misgivings, which he wasn't entirely ready to set aside, their leader seemed collected. They were of a similar size, close enough that he wouldn't go squinting at their differences. Sorenn wondered absently what he was really like, underneath those manners and decorum. Perhaps if he was lucky he would get to find out.