YOU KNOW WHEN THAT SHARK BITES, WITH HIS TEETH, DEAR SCARLET BILLOWS START TO SPREAD FANCY GLOVES, THOUGH, WEARS OLD MACHEATH, DEAR SO THERE'S NEVER, EVER A TRACE OF RED How long had it been? Months? Years? More than that, he had to reckon. He had left everything behind, his children, everything and everyone. Jesus, how far gone was he? The question boiled and stuck in his brain like a hot iron poker. He could not avoid it and could not shirk the regret that had clutched hard at his throat whenever he gave the question little more than a brief thought. He had left the lands behind him where they belonged ? in the past. The future lay sprawling out before him with yawning jaws. Not so much blood lay spilled on those crisp horizons, or at least not blood that meant his own heartache. He had made his escape when all else seemed to be closing in, decided that leadership was not his calling and left the lands to find that life which he had given up. From forest to forest he had wandered, a loner once again to those around him. A mercenary simply looking to sell himself. The mercenary was one in a million others ? he stuck out, but not enough to warrant those around him remembering his identity. And so he had drifted from one new land to the next. Food caught by others rested easily in his stomach. Each meal paid for with scars and blood. The man believed himself a problem-solver, who solved each problem with violence. His size and battle experience was what he peddled, for it was what he was best at. He had killed and maimed and wounded to make the world a better place. At least, that?s what he told himself. And so, Icarus Vonecci had arrived in yet another land to search for problems to solve. It was only briefly that the silver leviathan pondered if it would be these lands that would sign his death certificate. Would this be the place that would claim his last, wretched breath? Brilliant orange eyes searched the dark gloom of the forest, searching for a singular face to appear from the darkness. Without the ones that he was familiar with? He could have scoffed at such an idea ? he had trained his entire life to die alone. Trained his entire life to fight with honor and duty. And to die with it as well. No one would hold him as he fell, and he would not expect anyone to do such a thing. Colossal paws propelled the man forward, not allowing him to stop and think of his fatalistic ways. There was business that needed tending.

White and black bridled the Queen, her lustrous coat bouncing with every step she took, and not a single step was taken without purpose. There was drive in her eyes. Ambition. She was a warrior, summoned upon the new lands for yes, her family, first and foremost, and secondly, for her simplistic tactics. She was a behemoth in battle, even if at standing she was hardly anything extraordinary. Thew seemed to froth at each fine curve of her essence, decorating her in liquid awe. Steely teal gaze devoured the Earth as she sought out her next endeavor. Who would she be, or even he? There was a new place of possibilities. Possibilities she wanted to exploit.

Rivera's movement was that of a fine weapon, as though the blade of a refined blade shifting through the air, cutting all it dare touch, and yet, there was a softness to her eyes, a tender readiness, subtly to approach her, and physique to end those deserving. Ravenous jowls would open to the world, her salmon tongue crossing her inky lips before her firm bodice would sit complacently upon the topography, her shoulder leaning against a dark tree, and more than her rest, something far more intriguing would come to place her. A man. A man that moved in the same manner she danced. He had a passion. He had a gleam in his eyes that told he was looking for something, and she could only beg the question.

"Not to sound cliche...but why so serious?" A smile would dance across her features as she cooed from the foliage, eyes dancing over the large man. What was he? What exactly was he doing so far out here...so purposefully? The wolves of Alacritia had so far failed to impress her. The dolt fighting the white wolf, oh he had just pissed her off, but, she had hopes for the man before her, and while she would never trust him, perhaps entertainment of sorts could be arranged.





Speech!

It did not take long for someone to find him in the deep brush of gloomy forest. The man could only breath silent happiness that the girl was no member of any packs. Her scent was noted even before her voice hit the air. It was musky, but delicate. Above all, it was untainted by the residual stench of pack life. Not to sound cliche... but why so serious? The silver leviathan turned his head in the general direction of the sound, but did not seem to have been taken off guard by the words. His eyes burned like smouldering embers in the gloom of the forest that surrounded them. The colossus stopped his movement forward and halted to watch the woman that had appeared. Black lips pulled his handsome features into a striking smile, the surrounding light bringing attention to his neat row of teeth. He beheld the dual-toned girl, only briefly reminded of someone he used to know, but he cast the idea aside. The woman that haunted his nightmares was a queen long dead, and left un-mourned. This rogue was a no one to him, her face was as unfamiliar as the forest he tread. And who's to say I'm quite as serious as you believe? Perhaps I'm the court jester, just searching for his next gig? But from the man's features it was clear that he was no court jester, not even a bard. Scars laced intricate weaves beneath the tumultuous waves of silver. His broad features were those of a soldier, and his thick muscles betrayed it entirely.

The overlayed queen would ascend from the foliage and shrubbery to appear before him, a fair distance a way. She did not trust him, and he did not trust her. They were strangers, both very capable of snapping the other's neck. Both perfect artists of war. Her gaze fell with neutrality upon him, a wonderment as to his game as his deep baritones danced across her ears. A coy smirk would press against her lips, and she would flick her tail gently between her hocks. The Sovari woman would roll her eyes and continue to stand.

"Oh! Walking entertainment, then do dance for me, phoenix!" she called to him. His eyes were like fire, smoldering against his visage as powerfully as sarcasm dripped from her chords. Dubbing him a nick name and reclining to her haunches the elegant warrior would curl her toes into the dirt and her coy simper would curve into a far more salacious grin. "Let's be honest, judging by your visage, you're either an incredibly drawl performer, or you like to fight a bit too much," Teal eyes burned with condensed amusement and she only wondered what he was thinking. Ambushing the little girl? It would be an interesting notion...certainly...however, she too was no perfectly put together bodice. She too had her lacerations, and though for her age they were extreme, for the same reason they were few.

Speech!

Walking entertainment, then do dance for me, Phoenix! The nickname she had chosen for the man struck him as telling. It employed a deeper meaning than even she knew, perhaps more than she ever would. A younger Icarus might have offered a small smile at her words, instead he offered something between a brilliant flash of teeth and a grimace. The name had struck him harder than he would have believed. Thrummed some chord hidden deep in his breast. Instead he gave a roll of his enormous shoulders and gave the woman no more than a few words for her time - You seem to doubt my abilities. However, she went on to speak of his evident strength and power. Calling attention to the scars that adorned him. You're either an incredibly drawl performer, or you like to fight a bit too much. That did elicit a laugh from the mercenary. It bubbled with a deep-seated mirth in the chasms of his chest. His eyes looked back at her, Aye, I like to fight, He bowed gracefully to the woman, as if she was worthy of some unnecessarily poncy title. In spite of his size and stature, Icarus' movements were lithe and precise. But I can dance just as well as any ballerina, I'll have you know. His burning eyes had noticed her tensed muscles. How cute, she thought he was going to attack her. Why? Icarus turned his attention back to the path, and his paws began their journey once again. There was no doubt in his mind that his follower would be biting at his heels any moment now, he had piqued her interest.

If there so happened to be things that the young woman understood it was that everything happened for a reason, derived a purpose, and would ultimately end up growing into something bigger. Like theology, all events did, were build into a climax before things collapsed into tired breaths to begin yet again. She was an innocent thing, supposedly, unless speaking in the art of battle, and perhaps that was why she was able to speak to the man before her. There was a certain interesting factor in his breadth that she was going to discover. ?Do I? A firm smirk crossed her inky lips as her corpse torqued to move alongside his own.

His words echoed within? her mind and the Sovarian queen would smile in stride with the brute, ?A sublime dancer then? Show me,? her words rolled off her tongue like that of a forked serpents? own and she attempted to swivel her thighs into his own, a mere attempt to shove him to the side, sway his balance, and then the sheila would gracefully rise to the side, her bodice twisting over and facing him, backing away slowly, as she readied herself for whatever he was going to do. Surely he wouldn?t just walk away? Surely he would aid in her more ravenous rendition of tag or play. She was going to screw with him until she got what she wanted. A show of power. It was all she was asking.


Speech!