ooc. leaving some details of prior threads with other chars vague lol anyone is welcome to come say hi! A familiar scent played upon the nares of the violet titan, and his nostrils flared. A pleased hum burbled in his chest, though his expression hardly faltered from the blasé scowl that seemed a permanent feature of his handsome facade. Long limbs carried his lean form across the harsh northern plains, closing in on the coastline as the scent of his kin grew ever stronger. He lingered near the boundaries of the recently established pack, testing the scent markers with a keen nose and parted jaws. The details flooded his senses, wafted into the recesses of his brain. Invaded the crannies and folds of grey matter as he pulled them apart one by one. Nothing exceptionally old, as though it were a long-established offshoot of his lineage. There were many bodies populating the region, a varied group of males and females, all in good health when they patrolled the borders at the very least. He couldn't detect any elders among them, though he also couldn't detect many children venturing anywhere near the borders. Perhaps this was a militant group, intending to marshal their strength here in the north before venturing out to conquer the rest of the continent. A long, slow sigh heaved from his breast and filled the air around his face with mist. He was about as prepared as he could be, by this point. Might as well ring the doorbell properly, see what was going on. Muscular shoulders straightened, quills rustling against one another in the fur of his ruff as he tipped back his elegant crown and released a sonorous call for any interested parties. He was mostly interested in availing the leadership of his services, potentially enrolling himself among their ranks, but he welcomed the opportunity to see who all he called family in these lands. What kinds of characters allied themselves to his lineage. Ivory tipped tail swept once, twice over his hocks, and then stilled. Gold tipped auds flickered, searching for the telltale crunch of hard-packed snow that would announce someone's arrival.

As soon as the resonant call washed over the terrain, Aresenn’s ears pricked up, alert. His heart drummed an anticipatory rhythm within the confines of his chest, his nose twitching as it sought out the source. The call was a stranger's, deep and undeniably masculine, yet harboring a hint of curiosity rather than aggression. It was a sonorous ring he had not heard before, and it awakened his keen interest. Seizing initiative with fearlessness, he pushed himself off the frozen ground and immediately headed towards the source of the sound. Navigating with confidence over familiar terrain; each step was placed artfully- passing over an array of rotting carcasses as he approached the marked boundary.

Aresenn’s amber gaze, sharp and assessing, flickered over the landscape until they finally settled on the stranger. His imposing form was outlined against the pale winter light, a silhouette of compelling strength- or at the very least, seemingly so. He wasn’t one to gamble, but based on the resemblance to the Saxes he had become familiar with in his life, he thought it safe to assume that this younger brute had come to take refuge with relatives. Aresenn moved closer still, his pace steady and deliberate. Clearing his throat before speaking upon crossing into a conversational distance. “Did you get lost along the way?” He asked in a lower tone- one of faint amusement. “Saxe, I presume?” He asked the distinctly purple-hued brute. Eyeing him all the way down to the golden markings that etched his features.

"Aresenn Praetor"

Though the northern chill carded icy fingers through his pelage, the violet titan was largely unbothered by the occasional brush of frigid air against his skin. Dispassionate lavender gaze drifted across the landscape, taking in the towering rock faces that led into a sheltered valley beyond the Sound itself. An excellent place to utilize, and easily defensible in the event of an assault. Barricade the mouth of the canyon, and not many opponents are suicidal enough to try and hurl themselves from the sheer cliffs on all sides. His musings were interrupted by the rough vocalization of a cleared throat nearby- chiseled cranium snapped to pin a pale gaze upon whoever approached. The amber pelted brute who swaggered up to the borders to greet him was wholly unfamiliar, though the stink of the borders mirrored the undercurrents of his musk well enough to mark him as a member of the pack. The male spoke with a hint of humour in his tone, questioning whether he'd gotten himself lost. Stoic features hardly twitched, though his lip twitched a little into an approximation of amusement at the implication. The stranger guessed after his lineage, and guessed correctly. The amethyst giant inclined his skull in a wordless nod of affirmation. "Melchior Saxe," he replied, vocals akin to the snap of a tree trunk in the dead of winter. "Am I correct in presuming that others of my name preside over these territories?" the brute questioned, not unkindly, relieving the male of his bottomless stare for a few moments to search the shadows for others. Never too careful on the borders of unfamiliar pack lands. Never too cautious. "I would like to know what manner of domain is held here, if you or your comrades would spare the time." though his tone was carefully measured, there was no malice or disdain in his voice when he returned his sharp stare to the strange male. A large brute, to be certain, and no doubt patrolling the borders with some degree of skill in battle under his belt. A subtle tilt of well sculpted crown, the gilded goliath could not mask the sparkle of curiosity that lingered in his gaze as he searched the male's expression- had his assumptions been correct?

Aresenn found his attention captured by the stark contrast of Melchior's violet frame against the snow-blanketed landscape. The stranger carried an imposing presence, his lavender gaze piercing and unruffled. Aresenn was no stranger to intense encounters, but meeting Melchior's eyes had a cool kind of calmness that was as intriguing as it was ominous. Needless to say, Melchior certainly fit the bill, however closely related he was to the rest of the lot.

His prompt confirmation of being a Saxe wasn't unexpected, but somehow hearing him say it aloud gave it more weight. Aresenn’s lips curled into a half-sided smirk at the introduction he was offered, glancing once more over the larger form, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the gold markings etched across his form. "You could say that.” He answered casually, as he leaned back on his haunches. The frosty crunch of snow under his weight was the only sound that filled the space between them for the moment. “The Sultan’s name is Sephiran Saxe, and the Syndicate is made up of a myriad of his siblings, cousins, other extended relatives, and the occasional outlier.” The fiery brute offered, having already made up his mind of the likely outcome of this conversation. “As for the nature of the beast, it is hostile at its worst. Volatile at its best. Feared by many, respected by few. If it’s power you want … well, they’re an ambitious lot. But I probably don’t need to tell you that.” He finished, allowing his attention to momentarily shift back toward the heart of the valley before returning. After a couple of moments of pause, he offered his own introduction. “Aresenn Praetor.”

"Aresenn Praetor"

Venturing back into the valley of The Polar Sound, Sephiran had just returned from his island after completing a patrol. The air in the sound was still, the occasional whisper of a breeze rustling through the towering pines. Snow blanketed the forest floor, leaving crisp imprints of his massive paws in his wake. His panther companion was following behind him, his viper coiled loosely around his neck, slithering through his thick fur as it savored its master’s warmth. Its little tongue caressed his skin, as it reveled in his sharp cologne. With each breath, tendrils of mist formed in front of him, swirling and dancing in the frigid air. His panthers did the same, the dark beast watching their surroundings for threats as the Sultan led it across the valley.

He didn’t have a destination in mind; he was wandering aimlessly. Looking for something of interest, anything that could satiate him. He considered visiting the Sidi dens, to cause havoc among their slaves just for the hell of it. He’d even turned his body in the direction of the dens, but suddenly his falcon companion swopped down from the sky. Wolf like you! Wolf like you! Stopping, Sephiran raises his head up, peering at the flapping bird with a look of interest. At the borders! As if on cue, a howl rang out across his domain, resonating from the borders and summoning the heathens living within.

Oh. Wolf that looks like me. He recognized the voice immediately; he hadn’t heard it in seasons, but it was one he wouldn’t forget. His half-brother Melchior. The two males had very similar pelts, though Mel was slightly taller than Sephiran. Bulkier too. Now he understood why his falcon was so interested in the wolf at the border. He may as well be Sephiran’s twin.

The Sultan takes his time arriving at the border, Aresenn’s crimson form appearing first, given it stood out so drastically against the backdrop of his snowy forest. Behind him, was the limbering male who shared his father, Apollyon. He arrived just as Aresenn finished describing his pack to Mel, and Sephiran strolled forward without hesitation.

Typical of him, Sephiran exudes an air of authority and arrogance, a palpable shift occurring in the atmosphere as he seems to consume the space around them. His sharp, dark features are pulled back into a sneer, his piercing eyes honing in on Mel, forming assessments and assumptions. Had he come to join the rest of his family? Stopping at a conversational distance, and a step forward from Aresenn to signify his place as Sultan. Sephiran rolls his shoulders forward, head tipping up and slightly back, his lips curling into a predatory smirk. He waits to see what his brother’s initial response would be; if he would bend beneath Sephiran’s will, or if he would defy the Sultan and declare himself an enemy.

Sephiran was always siding with his paranoia.

"Speech"

Code by Sea

He endeavoured to maintain an expression that was at least neutral, his brow already prone to furrowing and eyes narrowing despite his youth. He stifled a pleased rumbling in his chest to have his suspicions confirmed, instead grunting in acknowledgment and nodding lightly-more to himself than anyone else. The bruise-dark figure remained mute as the strange male offered up the information he'd been seeking, explaining that this was no neutral force, no self-contained fortress. This was a pack called the Syndicate; organized, violent, and blood-soaked was the image that name invoked in the mind. And the crimson brute confirmed that with his next sentence, admitting that they were a violent and volatile bunch, with no shortage of hostility to spare. Unsurprising. Apollyon and his ilk had cultivated no less in their bloodline, and those who had spread out to surrounding lands carried that kind of vitriol in their marrow. Speaking of his sire, it shouldn't have surprised him to learn that the leader of the violent new branch of Saffron's dynasty was the golden boy himself. Their father had been outraged in the wake of his heir's absconding from his birthright, and it hadn't taken much of a push for Melchior to follow the elder brother's lead and abandon the familiarity of his natal pack. Apollyon's ire was relentless, and he knew damned well he would never be enough to fill Sephiran's role. Then, an introduction. Aresenn Praetor. The nomenclature was just as evocative as his handsome pelage, allusions to smoldering villages and bloodsport. Well matched to the clan he'd aligned with. He made a note of the casual sprawl of limbs that accompanied the male's rundown of the pack's values and habits, weight placed on his haunches as he settled in the dense snow underfoot. Ever so polite, the gilded titan dipped his muzzle and flicked his ears back in a show of respect. "A pleasure," he rumbled evenly, though there was no smile that graced his dagger-sharp features and bared glistening fangs. And so steps forth the prodigal son, exuding oppressive energy from every pore and doing his damndest to loom over both of the males as he closed in. Of course, Melchior in that moment realized that Sephiran was.. smaller than he remembered. Rather, he had grown to stand taller than his elder half-sibling. This was quite the development, indeed. Regardless, he ensured his crown was held level with his shoulders, chin lowered in a display of measured deference. He wasn't one to roll over and show his belly, bare his throat. However, he had no interest in challenging Sephiran. The throne never suited Melchior. He tipped his skull in a respectful greeting to his half-brother, pale lavender eyes dropping to the snowy terrain for a moment before lifting to meet the amaranthine brute's. "I should congratulate you," he uttered, gravelly baritones bordering on warmth directed at the Sultan. "claiming a throne in foreign lands is no small feat." Melchior refrained from the potential for pride in his tone, lest the volatile giant interpret it as patronizing. If nothing else, Sephiran was not one to respond kindly to anything even resembling scorn. Melchior Saxe

His eyes traveled across the taller frame of his half-brother, inspecting him with an analytical eye, forming assumptions, and contemplating if he would be a worthy addition to his group. Mel’s display of neutrality helped soothe the suspicions raging in his mind, and the paranoia that drove much of his decisions and actions. The plague that consumed his thoughts and ravaged his mind. A tip of his skull, an aversion of the eyes, the subtle tucking of his chin- following with an accolade- an acknowledgment of the work Sephiran has completed in his brother’s absence.

Mel was choosing his actions carefully, that much was apparent- which won him the grace of The Syndicate Sultan.

With a flick of his muzzle, Sephiran dismisses Aresenn. Then, he turns back to his brother, locking their gazes. He continues to wield his authority like a weapon, each gesture commanding obedience and attention. “Why did you leave Saffron?” Straight to the point, Sephiran muses his thoughts aloud. “And why are you at my borders.” A final question, which tied into the first. He wanted to know why Mel was here instead of back home, serving their father and his brood of heathens.

"Speech"

Code by Sea