You're a Villian Alright, Just Not a Super One.

Aresenn stood on high alert, his muscular body taut at the sight of the coyote pack advancing slowly towards them. His throat clenched tight around a snarl as he squared his shoulders to face the oncoming threat. Amber eyes narrowed as he focused on his threat. But he was ever aware of his son’s presence at his side. My, how their little patrol had gone to shit. Every hair along Aresenn's spine bristled, his ears flattened against his skull. “Stay close. Keep your guard up. Be light on your feet, and don’t let yourself get lost in one of them. There’s a whole pack of them to be aware of.” Aresenn grumbled lowly, his voice a guttural, aggressive growl that echoed off the sheer cliffs of Polar Sound. He knew they were outnumbered, not that he was concerned that they were in true danger. This was a good opportunity for Dracun to be able to test his mettle against a real threat.

With a forceful grunt, Aresenn advanced, his dark red form a fearsome image against the lush greenery of the valley. His move was calculated, deliberate. Each footfall on the thawed tundra was purposeful and heavy, meant to send vibrations through the ground, to signal his power and dominance. His challenge was met with a growl from the coyote pack - a low, rancling chorus that reverberated amongst the tall cliffs of slate, its echo lingering ominously in the summer air. And with that, he lunged forward with outstretched paws and a splayed jaw.

Aresenn collided headlong into the lead coyote, sending them both rolling across the grass in a flurry of fur and snarls. His teeth sunk into the coyote's scruff, a raw, feral growl vibrating in his throat. His muscles strained against the thrashing body beneath him, an exquisite ache that pulsed with the rhythm of his heart. His claws dug through fur and into flesh, a satisfied grunt grating from deep within him as he felt the coyote squirm beneath his grasp.

"Aresenn Praetor"