wild roses in the wasteland

Raumr knows of the continent called Auster. There lies a land they called the Boneyard where ones went to fight. In Boreas, he had just learned of a similar land called the Battlefield. A similar land, but with less carcasses and more bloodstained pits of dried dirt. Not his preferred terrain to lounge in, but if he were to prove himself, it was a necessity. With a curl of his lip, the liger prowls with shoulders rolling fluidly, paws spreading to their full extent.

When a daring call screeches into the red-tinged sky, Raumr pauses, amber eyes scanning. Not far, a young male stands, posturing as if the world stood on his shoulders. Perfect, the more unpredictable the better. Approaching with slow, languid steps, Raumr stands over the boy. "Fight me if you dare," he speaks in warm honey tone that sounds lighter than it does terrifying. Almost as if he's taunting the boy.

Raumr Regalus, the Third