The dance of the death

Orthrus had always been a bit of an odd one. He didn't speak much but Scylla didn't care. He could have been mute or mentally disturbed and it wouldn't matter. Blood was important and if she could take care of it, then she would.

As the cloaked brute followed her hesitantly across the border, Scylla gave her head a little shake. It was almost like he was afraid to cross. She didn't bring it up though, instead just smiling lightly as she padded along. Orth asked how she'd been and Scylla shrugged, one striped shoulder lifting. "Well enough. Our father almost died, but he's okay now. Just... doing the alpha thing, you know? Building fun little monsters." They passed one of her taxidermy monstrosities. It was the body of a boar with the head of a crocodile, wings of a vulture outstretched on either side. The base was wrapped in thorned vines. She was quite proud of that one.

"Scylla Klein"