death has arrived

He couldn't help it. He always found his way back to the crypt. The potent emotion that oozed from the dust covered floor and filled the familiar darkness until it felt like a physical weight upon his flesh.. he couldn't ignore it. So when a booming call sounded from the crypt that had borne the vagabond, he answered. A hulking monolith of simmering wrath that lumbered into view with no heed for the attention he drew. Appraising the boy who stood at the foot of the mountain, lingered near the entrance to his home. He was familiar somehow, had he met the boy when his sire had lived here? It was hard to say. He hadn't paid much attention.

It had been about the promise for violence that thrummed through the notes of the summons, not the one who'd promised it. It was his birthright, bloodshed. With the death of his father still weighing on his soul, he sought only to bury the emotion beneath a mountain of gore. The assembled wolves were young. Not too much younger than himself, but some of them seemed barely old enough to have left their parents. One of them was easily small enough to still be a child, his pale gold eyes lingered on the pallid figure and narrowed, one ear flicking back as he considered her. Not his problem.

The aurora-painted brawler hovered near the back of the group, head carried low between broad shoulders as he considered the dark furred brute who had called for the likes of him. Amid the brightening skies of a late autumn dawn, each breath escaped as a stream of mist that wreathed his muzzle. He would wait, see what this was about. If it was interesting enough, he might stick around.