our altar is the battlefields

The lumbering behemoth strode forth with crown held between burly shoulders, colourful pelage draped in the scattered light that managed to break through the thick canopy overhead. He was being summoned for the purpose of loosing violence, and so he would heed the call. Broad paws landed with rhythmic thudding as he joined the assembled band, tension lingering as a subtle undercurrent between all of the wolves present. He dipped his chin in a wordless greeting to their fearless leader, and settled on his haunches among the burgeoning assemblage. The close press of shoulders and melody of bated breath was unfamiliar to the born loner, the wandering cryptborn who had never shared space with so many bodies at once.

It was about time they drew first blood, and the brute was eager to learn who would fall first.