LEAN, MEAN, FIGHTING MACHINE

He was determined to succeed. Though Arcanum was a strong, like-minded group, they needed more members. Strength was best found not just in unity, but in numbers. The massive brute would make his way toward the center of Alacritia, his paw-steps heavy and strange to his own ears as he trekked across the lands. Basilisk had been here once before, when he was merely a boy. So full of hate and rage, he'd been eager to fight, and he had quickly been put in his place. Cross had shown him that he was not quite as adept at battle as he had assumed -- so much had been learned that day, from such a simple spar.

Deep in thought for some time, his attention was broken as a vaguely familiar sound broke out from the distance. He'd met the girl as a child, and she had interested him in a way many others had not. She'd been so innocent, and yet wise beyond her years all the same. Interest begin to shine in his purple gaze as he continued forward.

Why was she here, he wondered? To fight? Perhaps she was looking for a home? The last time he had seen her, Odette had been rather content in Valhalla. Deciding to find out, he increased his pace. It wasn't long before she came into view, but another was with her as well. They seemed to be having a friendly spar -- he saw no malice between the two as they locked in a fierce embrace of battle. He was silent as he came to sit near them, unblinking gaze fixated on the duo.