|
D arcia was not busy. He was never busy. But he was a tedious man who did not like to take time to linger on preposterous outcomes that might or might not happen. He had not seen Iason for a long while, and because of that, he had chosen to move his den, erase all memory of the male. The new location was where the graves were. The same place Elora had been looking for when she had first come to Bright Moon. Where had she gone? Had his curse finally lowered it's iron hand upon her neck, snapping it in half? The dragga could only guess where she might be... or Iason for that matter. A thought that the two may be lingering off together had him seize the meat he had been eating too swiftly. He stood instantly and spat it back out, the blood splattering. His appetite would surely not return for at least a long while... and when he caught the scent of a nameless varg on the gales, he instantly turned towards it, auds pricked. Danger's cologne had accompanied it, which was also interesting. Of course, Darcia knew that he had been a bit of a ghost these days. Danger was one of the souls he would very much like to speak to. To get to know. To win the trust of. As he made his way to the duet on the borders, he could feel his heart grow a bit. The territory markers were always the most interesting part of Bright Moon, especially recently with all these strangers coming about. Thoughts swept to Cheshire, the miss he had managed to keep from cracking her head open on the earthen tread just a while back. But those thoughts did not last for long. Words soon poured into his listeners.
Darcia's cool? I don't think he's a tyrant, or anything. He's a little distant. But not in a bad way. Amusement flickered in the ruler's mismatched portals and he stepped out of the shadows, next to his soldier. Not a tyrant but a vigilante who has taken on title of sentinel. And you, Danger, are not a refugee but a King. His words were smooth, with all the splendor of the blade of a knife. They may seem cool, collected, kind even... but there was an edge to them-- there always had been. An edge he could not conceal. The mismatched gazers swiveled from the blind man's body to that of a pathetic newcomer. Or what looked to be a newcomer. His scent was giving off the opposite message. Many wanderers had come to Darcia in the past few months of his reign. He knew what it was like to be one, and therefore knew that one did not simply just wander along the territories of other packs before coming to one he'd chosen. It was a guess, choosing a pack. You knew not of those who lived within it save for rumors, and you knew not of the leader. It was like playing roulette. Darcia was not one to give his position away. Coming from a pack that was as oppressive as they come, the male had made it a point to keep his ranking to himself. His tassel never raised above perhaps an interested position and he never kept himself too proud. The monstrosity leading Bright Moon was a ghost with a curse, and he kept his distance most of the time, especially from those who came seeking, or could scent.... Elora flashed through his head and he flicked his gaze to the wanderer again. A brief flash of amber eyes had him instantly on guard. He voiced it too. Your eyes betray your body language, stranger. You tremble there at the ground, but your eyes stay lifted, steady. And, he decided to keep going, keeping a strangely stoic look on his face as he let loose his lyrics. the makeup of your musculature is not that of one who cowers. I do not find joy in games of pretend. They are often full of, if not made entirely of, malice. A shift in the makeup of the brujo's gaze should have sent shivers down this Greyjoy's spine. But of course, a transient is no enemy of mine. Stand yourself straight as you normally would. There are no secrets in these lands, but I do not press my soldiers or my valkyries to tell me anything. Danger knows nothing of me, save that my loyalty to my kin knows no bounds.
Darcia was playing with him. He knew that no wanderer would come from Abendrot if curiosity had not knocked the hat off of his head first. He knew Abendrot's warriors were fiercly loyal to their King. And he also knew that Bright Moon wasn't exactly on familiar terms with their neighboring packland when he gained control of it. Briefly the monarch wondered if there was a reason for that. But he did not voice his inquiry. In fact, he made no inquiry or look of curiosity at all. Simply nonchalance. He wet his lips before stepping a little in front of Danger, his shoulder blade brushing up against the male's own before he moved slightly further forward. I have no interest in a harvest sown and reaped on the same day. Come in, Greyjoy. Those who seek often do not leave. It was not a threat. It was fact. None of his pack members had left him since the day that they had joined. Some stayed more to themselves than others did, but he had never once had a problem with the fairness within his territory. No one had voiced their thoughts about his ruling them, and no one seemed unhappy. But this was not a welcome mat either. It held a bit of a challenge, as it should. Darcia had no doubt that this creature was no wanderer, but indeed from the traces that still lingered under his pelt cloaked in the stench of other packs. He trusted the gut instinct that had gotten him out of his death sentence... he had learned to survive by trusting it, and he was not about to stop now. Darcia waited for movement from the other side. He had moved his pieces, it was time for their 'newcomer' to do the same.
darcia
|
|
