Long had been the months in which he had had no singular place to call home. Always he was travelling, going to new places, really seeing the sites. That had, after all, been part of the appeal of the job. What was more attractive or thrilling than seeing the world? But soon he had learned that such adventure and opportunity came at a steep price. For Jorah was not an esteemed traveler, nor a civilian. He was one of the most trusted spies to Imhotep. The King had sent him on many a mission and always he succeeded, for the timbers was willing to go to just about any length to succeed. Often he was just send out on surveillance runs, and so he needed to do naught but lurk in the shadows and listen to the incessant ramblings of those within the pack, or wherever else they may be living. But other times he was sent into enemy territory. Often it was behind war lines in order to get a step ahead and know each of their next moves so that never were they caught off guard. He had saved many lives - at least on his side of the fight. Ambushes were, after all, useless if the ones you were trying to ambush knew when and where they were going to happen.

Jorah had learned many things over the years. He knew how to act well - the most important aspect of playing any role was, of course, to keep it as close to the truth as was possible. The fewer lies that you got caught in, the better. When he had first started in this line of work, the brute changed his name with every new mission, thinking of himself as a secret agent. But as he grew in experience he learned that such things were not overly necessary, and only complicated your stories. What would happen if once - just once, you slipped up and told the wrong name? Not only was your cover blown, but you were also usually put into immediate danger. It didn't matter how good of a spy he was, a dead spy was a useless spy, and the King would not send in an extraction team in to save those who were caught. If you were caught, it was because you were careless... You failed your task. Not to mention that by sending in a team, the ownership of the spy would be revealed - it was simply too high of a cost.

Only once had Jorah failed Imhotep, and it was all because of his heart. While under cover posing as a new pack member, he had fallen for the Alphess. She was mated to an abusive brute, one who covered her in new cuts nearly on a daily basis. She had Been beautiful despite the battered bruises, and eventually he had revealed himself to her. They had quickly fallen into an affair and he made plans to bring her out with him when he left, but failed to think about just how strong a mother's bond was to her children. The King had threatened to kill the heirs should she leave him, and so she had instead betrayed Jorah. He had escaped with his life and the information requested, but he had been found out. Months of carefully laid plans had been ruined, and yet Imhotep had showed him mercy. Jorah had been allowed to keep his life... But on.y after he led a team into the pack to murder all of the royals - including his love - while they slept. When he returned home, Imhotep had had him neutered to prevent future errors. Where once his family jewels hung was now empty, holding only their shriveled remnants.

That had been years ago, and never had he failed since. Long legs pushed him forward off the ground, his coat neatly kept and groomed to hide from prying eyes the multitude of scars that lay beneath his pelt. For, all too often, he doubled as an assassin. Sometimes it was made to look like like an internal job to hide that an assassination had occurred at all. Rather, it was made to look like one of the pack members had fought the King and both had died... But other times it was made to look exactly like what it was - an assassination. A warning that they had upset a very powerful person... And though no obvious calling card was left, the survivors of the victim more often than not knew exactly why it had happened. But this trip, this mission was different. For Imhotep was looking to expand his pack yet again, and the only thing between him and taking over the packland was the firstborn son of the previous Alpha. Jorah was headed to infiltrate this son’s current pack to see if he had any intention of returning home - this one named Kalgalath. And if he did… well… it would be Jorah’s job to ensure that he did not. Head tilted back as he neared the boundary and let loose a call, asking for a ranked wolf to come to him. Asking for admittance. A pleasant sort of look came to his face… perhaps pleasant wasn’t quite the right word. Softness perhaps, to ease the gruffness from his looks.