The Inquisitor

Azrael

Large violet paws so dark they were almost an inky black crunched through the dense snowfall of the north, crushing the fresh powder beneath his weight. The sizable brute carved a path through the snow for his smaller companion to follow through, leading the way by shape nares in the direction of familiar scents—scents he hadn't smelled in a long time. Not since they'd set out to establish their own domain. And ah, would you look at that, it appears they had succeeded! Azrael tilted his head and smiled as his pale sage green eyes fell upon the skeletons strewn across the obvious scent border that marked the clan he had been seeking for some time now. He studied the corpses like they were a macabre art installation, humming pensively to himself while he trudged along past them as if they were entirely commonplace decoration. It would appear his cousin's taste in decor hadn't changed much in the time since he'd departed from Saffron. Some things never changed...

"Come along," he called back to the earth and cream fae in tow behind him, purring baritones almost singing with his simple yet direct command. Across his back, the brute carried a simple rucksack that hung off the side of his body, the bag containing all of his worldly possessions that meant anything to him, which were few and far between. He was a wolf of simple means. All he took with him from his old home were the things he deemed irreplaceable. They were mostly his tools of his trade; everything else he could acquire anew here. Well, besides the lovely lady following at his heels, that was. She had been an unexpected surprise toy to add to his collection. Drawing closer to the borders proper, the violet brute came to a halt and sniffed at the ground. Yes, this was definitely the place. The land positively reeked of Saxe. How delightful! With a crooked grin, the brute lifted his muzzle and issued a short call for the new Sultan.

While they waited, the brute turned to the fae—his Sidi. Those green eyes pierced into her ruby red jewels with a severity to emphasize his words to her. "Follow in silence if you value your skin. Speak when spoken to, not a moment before. And for both our sakes, try to not be a total brat to our new Sultan." He flashed his teeth in a menacing grin—a warning issued only once. "I don't want my new toy broken this soon." With his advice passed on, the brute turned forward and stood straight, waiting for the familiar form of Sephiran to appear to them. An eager smile laid easy on his lips, the calm and confident demeanor of a wolf who knew what he had to offer and was ready to begin his work.

Azrael Saxe was home.

"Azrael"

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The Inquisitor

Mireia, Sephiran

Azrael