It was back to the normal, in a way. Back to the typical. he war was over, and they had failed in even killing one from Diveen. Andras was not pleased, not in the slightest, but he knew to hold in his frothy rage and release it on another encounter. For now though, Andras was focused on simply keeping Lillith pleased. She was pregnant, after all, and Andras had a slight obsession with...makeing sure she was well fed. It was also a good way to get out some of that primal need to destroy, a need he did not get during the war.

His inky black paws barrel through the light snow that dusts the hell of Iromar. His breath is a hot huff of stream, like that of a freight train screaming down haunted tracks. His nares entrap the various scents of the land, searching for his next prey. He is a force that many should fear. He is one who enjoys the feeling of fangs on his own flesh, and sinking his own in others. Scar litter his body like an abandoned alleyway. The latest addition to his hardened form was on his muzzle. From his black muzzle, the shimmer of a yellowing fang always shows itself to the world. Yes, in the war he gained a scar more terrifying, and most fitting.

The scent of death and rot was always apparent in the land of Iromar. The bog was not exactly a place of pleasantries. It is a dangerous place to live, with many predators lurking in the shallow depths of the water. There is one predator that should be most feared as his muscles ripple under his midnight and blood coat. He is on the prowl, searching with his sunset eyes for something of worth to bring to his Lillith. He wanted only the best for her, the parts that are most nutritious and delicious. She deserves only the best, especially now that she carries the lives of his future children. Yes, she carries pure demonic blood, demonic perfection inside of her womb. Demons of combined souls.

As his mind swirls around looking for prey, the scent of a foreigner comes into focus. He stops in mid stride, lifting his nose to taste the wind for the exact direction it came from. It was female...a pregnant female. Pregnant females were not to be toyed with, unless they really deserved it. It is in the demonic code not to harm pregnant females, if anything, a lone pregnant female could be a great addition to the pack. Puppies raised around demons, were more allies against the angels. Yes, Andras will attempt to be on his best behavior, for he would know Ishtar would want more worthy pack members for the next war.

His form lumbered towards the direction of the scent, the fog covering much of the depressed and dark land. He is alert, yet held no fear. Pregnant females can be fierce, but he held much confidence in his abilities to hold one at bay. His walks slowly through the mist, when his ear turn towards where a voice dances in the air. It seemed to echo at all angles, mysterious in nature. Andras smirked slightly as he continued forth, engaging the female with a sort of rough single laugh.

The fog fades as her white form appears, like that of an ghost. His ripped form appears with his chiseled head held high, chest out in show of his rank in this pack. The moment he sees her, he merely stares, a gaze so hardened and aflame. He would stand before her, silent in a rather typical demon way. A way he sometimes does not uphold to, for Andras gets bored with silence easily, but on this day he is not particularly irritated. He could spare a few moments to assert his dominance with silence, watching her every move, observing her reactions and learning of her potential usefulness.