even Raider's mow their lawns

As Rhazien entered the plains, his large, strapping body is enveloped by a sea of tall grasses. Bending in the wake of his paw steps, his movement caused the grasses to ripple beneath the golden waves of the afternoon sun. The feathery tips of the blades brushed against his legs, creating an itchy sensation, but Rhazien ignored it. The Syndicate’s Effendi Dhaka was on a mission- and fate had a charming way of bending in the wake of his ambitions. He’d meant to visit the borders of the Raiders, intent on meeting the queen who attended the birth of Elysia’s children. Whether it was intentional or coincidental, fate had woven their groups together, built on the premise of shared blood. And that was something Rhazien couldn’t ignore.

The Raider’s scent was distinctive- he’d smelt it on the borders following Elysia’s birth. He recognized it as he entered the plains, the gentle gust of wind carrying it to him, guiding him as he traveled to the heart of the domain. As he pushed through the plains, the path he made was quickly filled in behind him, erasing any trace of his passage. It felt like he was traversing across a natural labyrinth of foliage- it was both serene and isolating.

As the grasses thinned out, Rhazien caught sight of a silhouette in the distance- a celestial form suspended in the backdrop of endless plains, walking with a sense of purpose. Rolling his shoulders forward and putting on his suave, charming smile, Rhazien headed toward the woman, emerging from the grasses with ease. His presence seems to transform the atmosphere, charging it with a warm, magnetic charm. There’s effortless grace in his movements, his gait smooth and measured, as he aims to enter a conversational distance with the woman.

“My, how fortunate am I.” He croons, a hint of mischief flickering in his dual-colored eyes. “I’ve bumped into the Raid Queen herself.” Of course, Rhazien couldn’t be certain that this was the Modesty Elysia spoke up- but she matched the description and scent, so he was making an assumption. “Rhazien Saxe.” He says, introducing himself with a slow nod of his head. “The Syndicate’s Effendi Dhaka- politician, if you will. And Elysia's Uncle.” His voice trails off, his eyes studying the celestial woman, anticipating her response.

"Speech"