To The Victor, The Spoils

Alastor wasn't usually one to take kindly to a defeat, but Fenmyre had so thoroughly trounced Elysium that the dark dire brute couldn't help but be impressed by Chimera's little army. During their dinner, he'd sought out the red-furred boy that had beaten him in combat to congratulate him personally. Not many wolves had the balls to go toe-to-toe with the demon wolf, let alone walk away victorious, and that deserved to be celebrated. He'd managed to convince the wolf to come with him back to where Elysium was camped while the others enjoyed their dinner celebration so he could give the lad a proper reward—a reward fitting a man and a warrior.

"You know, I never got your name when we were biting at each other's faces," commented Alastor with a chuckle. He glanced over to the crimson and gold-flecked brute at his side with a curious look. "In fact, you didn't say a word the entire time we were sparring! Some might consider that to be bad manners, you know, my dear boy." The dire brute waited for the other wolf to introduce himself before he'd give his name, and as they drew closer to Elysium's camp, he'd fill the young brute in on what his prize was to be as well.


"Alastor"