The wraith stood at the edge of the plains, his hooded and malformed shape contrasted against the lush green of the summer blessed fields. He wheezed with every breath, a line of drool dripping beyond the tattered hem of his veil onto the earth. He had meant to raise a call to be met by the pack but the burning in his throat was far too great for the effort. Instead he stood, a ghoul in the otherwise pleasant landscape waiting to be found. “Do you think they’ll come?” Writhe chattered excitedly. “They’ll come they’ll come!” Ruin supplied. “And when they see prince Prospero-“ The two heads broke out in shrill gleeful laughter then watched the horizon avidly. “Quiet!” He rasped bitterly, his body shaking with the effort, earning another bout of rancorous laughter from his companions. Speak Think Listen

It might have been some time before Archon happened upon Prospero. Despite anyone's best efforts, the pack couldn't keep the borders secure every hour of every day. As long as he hadn't crossed them, no harm was done. In fact, Archon nearly overlooked the male as some sort of scenery with his rough exterior. Perhaps the best benefit for this misshapen creature was the camouflage the disfigurations provided.

When Archon took note that the creature was indeed living, he took pause and approached. His eyes traced over the figure suspiciously. What had caused such wounds? Furthermore, what kind of act did it take to heal them?

"Is there something you seek?" Archon rumbled, conveying neither kindness nor malice.

Prospero rasped a breath as the male approached, drawing in as much breath as he could to address him. When the male spoke however the ghoul found he was only capable of speaking one word: “Sanctuary.” The conjoined rats chittered excitedly as they roved over the misshapen creature delighted by the contrast between their charge and the leader standing before them. “How graceful!” One head chimed appreciatively. “How elegant!” Spoke the other.“What beauty!” they cheered in unison. The wolf beneath them gave a phlegmy groan in irritation that as not without a touch of envy, as more spittle and bile dripped from his ruined jaw. “Proshpero...Is my… name” He moaned introductorily. “But I would be called by…” He paused to draw in air, his breath whistling and his frame rising visibly from the effort. “…Mishter Clemm.” talk Thought You

Archon gave the man as much time as he needed to gather himself and speak. He took note of the strange creature- creatures?- that chattered back and forth. Behind him, Archon heard Obi approach although he kept his distance. Perhaps wolves with companions were not so entirely rare as Archon initially thought.

The male asked for sanctuary. Sparrow might have given this man just that without hesitation. Archon, however, was not so inclined. The man seemed barely able to move or speak. What good was he to an already dying pack? How could he possibly earn his keep?

"Sanctuary," Archon stated. "In exchange for what?"

The two headed rat skittered along his skull and bent their heads to look into where his eyes would be under the veil, asking permission in their own way if he wanted them to speak for him. In response he heaved in another gasping breath“I am a man…Of delegation. A man… of intelligence… A man of…diplomashy…” He wheezed hoarsely. “I… Will bring you…” He let out a low throaty, moan that carried with it the tremor of a growl “…Order...” “Prince Prospero is of a warped form.” “But he is far from crippled!” “By fang or feather there are many ways the broken prince will bring compliance.” “Many! Many!” the two heads cheered then descended into a chorus of shrill giggles. It was a gamble for the tall male, the more peacefully aligned of packs would refuse an offer such as one he presented, but a more ambitious leader would welcome the promise of discipline. What kind of leader Archon was however remained to be seen. Speaking  Thinking