It was quiet here in the swamp; at least, this day it was. There was a particular lack of birdcall even for the hush of early winter. There were no rustles or splashes but every now and then the waters made an odd sort of slurp, the kind that comes loose with the sound of suction. That was the sound of the alligators; even they were hiding in the murky waters and mud, though.

A vibrant set of eyes, bloody red with a halo of rich, royal blue, turned over the lands of Iromar as the large, black male made his way over the pack border. His gait was leisurely, each step taken at confidence and posture held with an heir of pride. He was a demon; ten years of age had earned him a certain prestige. Hell knew him as their premiere strategist, wise and skilled in the way of battle. There had been talk, though most talk in Hell was a murmur or sigh, of the elders considering him for the council of Kings. It was only fitting, what with his choice breeding and proven intellect. One who bears both the mask and spine of hell should logically succeed in life. And yet… he was here.

She had never returned. His cousin, sent here on a mission by the elders, had been gone for years and he had not heard from or of her since. The task for which she was sent was still a mystery to him, but that mattered little. All logic aside, this demon could not accept any more praise or promise without his Bloodmouth there to witness. Blood kin was especially important to the Obyrith, despite his hardened, black ways, and there was little of that these days. If Hell could not provide him with the facts he needed on his cousin, it was time for him to find her on his own.

Mondego could not shake the feeling that there was something wrong, something decidedly omitted from what little information those in Hell had given him. It was most unsettling, though he did not outwardly show his feelings as he walked in steeled silence. The better of the news, as he had heard on the wind, was talk of the Bloodmouth and her demon pack. But, to dwell where he had for a while, if she was well, why had she not come home? For what reason did she need to linger in these swamps? It was a kingdom poorly suited for one of her stature, though, admittedly, the mists did provide for excellent cover.

The Obyrith halted as he came to drier land, setting his contrasted gaze around the hazy lands of Iromar with a placidly cold look upon his visage. He did not turn his maw skyward, did not issue a call or summons. He would not speak; he would wait. If demons indeed resided here, they would find him. He would keep a vigil.

I am here, my Bloodmoth cousin, my Ishtar. Come out, come out, wherever you are…

You're everything that a big bad wolf could want