He had made his way back to this place of misery and loss. This place that had always haunted the dreams his mother had placed within his head, even if they were not the lands she had wished for. Now the monochrome monster was back for what he left behind, knowing full well the little bastards would never recognize who he was with his disappearance so soon after their birth. Still, it was to them - or what remained of them - that he returned. Lurid had been but a fling, but the result of such a coupling would last as long as they could survive. It is this that sees the he-beast of Jaidah to rise upon the socked towers of his well muscled legs and make them move back to his birth place. As his father before him, Jumanji held a feeling of wrongness that had him always coming back to this damned infernal place. Perhaps, it was the need for reconnection, or the drive to become something that he wished with his entire being.

The male knew he would have to find the offspring first, and so he made his way to Iromar, where he had last seen their minuscule bodies and fought with Lurid to see them. The scent of the swamps clung tightly to the moisture within the spring time air, but no scent of detectable blood could be smelled with the overbearing cologne of rotting flesh growing in the air. He curled his nose, baring his white knives at the scent and its refusal to exit his nostrils. How could he have left them in such a squalid place? Do not doubt him, his fling had chosen this place for his young, and as far as he could tell they could be dead. What then? He would have to start over with his bloodline, though he would be very careful about his choice next time. He would not pick some fleeting female to give him a legacy worth sticking around for. He needed something with a bit of flare to it, a passion within his chest that had been passed from his mother as far as these wintery things go. At this moment, he pushes his own hunger to the side, his paws finally reaching the border of the swamp lands.

Disgust is clearly in his gaze as he watches the early morning fog roll over the stagnant water of a stream near by, for the most part, it was a beautiful place, if not for the bodies strewn all over the place. With a growl, he lifts his muzzle to the sky, letting go of deep baritones as he calls for alpha and kin alike, only wishing to seek his blood here whenever he wished to set his jade-yellow eyes on them. He is as patient as one can be with the blood of several dominant individuals within his veins, haughty nature fully expecting the behemoth of an alpha to come sashaying into view, along with the three he himself sired - should they all still live. If only the one or two, he expects them too. Come and meet the one who aspires to be more than a crazed monster like his horror story brother, but he understands the need for training, and this is what he wishes of Andras. To fight like a demon, so that he may one day take the land he chooses.