Fear.

Blood.

The two intangible yet delectable scents hung heavily in the air, and the tall titan of a beast stalked through the underbrush of the forest quietly, almost with grace, his dark coat blending in with the shadows. Every few steps, his tongue escaped from his mouth to taste the air as a serpent or really any reptile would, and each time that he did so his mouth watered, salivating. It had been a few days since he had fed - not that that was a long time of fasting for a wolf, but that did not mean that he was not hungry. And around such a fresh kill? It was enough to stimulate his body into thinking that he was starving. The hessian’s startling blue eyes shown from beneath his dark brows, and they focused hard on the trees in front of him, ready for whatever would come next - for he was ready to kill whatever or whoever had just killed the fawn in order to get two meals in one, and simultaneously mark another tally upon his soul’s ticket to the underworld. And if one were to look closely at his front left limb, they would see scarred tallies upon his flesh, marking each time that he had killed another carnivore so that he could keep track for himself – it was a little ritual of his own that he shared with no other.

Slowly, cautiously, Riumrix tilted his snout toward the ground and pressed against the edge of the branches, peering through them to see what may lie beyond… And when he did, he stood straight up and strode out, his camouflage lost, as well as any element of surprise that he had before. But there was no need for any of that - for the carnivore who had slain the fawn was no stranger to him, nor an enemy. It was his leader, the Deus to whom he hoped to one day prove his worthiness to. It was Riumrix’s goal was that his skill would be enough so as to be his champion eventually. And with that as his focus? Well… it would certainly do no good to attempt to kill Hyperion now, would it.

Riumrix was, as previously stated, a titan of a beast. Even among his own, he was tall and broad, with thick coursing ropes of muscle laying just beneath his skin, accentuated by the areas of his body where a lighter and thinner hair coat lay, in stark comparison to where his darker shades were. Despite his well-trained body, he was light on his feet, dexterous even. There was a certain beauty in the way he moved, lethal intent yet impeccable form. All in all, he was impressive figure, but perhaps what was the most curious of all about him was his manners. Riumrix was, as many would say, a true gentleman. Even after the bloodiest battle, within minutes he would be well cleaned and groomed to perfection, without a trace of blood upon him. To those dying, he would not taunt or curse them, but rather thank them for their weaknesses so that he may feast upon them. Unless, that is, they failed to meet his high level of standards, and in that case he would flail them open without an ounce of remorse. It was strange for a creature who had caused so much death and destruction to adhere so strictly to a code of moral conduct… But that was the enigma that was Riumrix.

And now? His elongated tail swept quickly to each side, the thickened tip brushing the dirt and pine needles from his paws before he swept into an eloquent bow. His front left limb swept forward, exposing the line of scars kept there like a treasury. It was why he presented his left limb as his forward limb - he was presenting his kills to the king. Each of his other kills – his prey, his snacks - were instead marked on his hind limbs, little pinpoint scratches as his backup tallies, not nearly as impressive conquers as the carnivorous ones. At any rate, while his left forelimb balanced his form, his right curled beneath him, and all the while his weight shifted backward onto his powerful haunches, his muscles tightening as they carried all of his weight with ease. His neck arced in order to lower his head, and his eyes lowered to peer at the ground just in front of where his master‘s paws laid.

“My liege, forgive me for intruding upon your meal, I did not realize it was you over the scent of the blood. I am glad to have found at last someone of our clan; no others have I laid my eyes upon.” Riumrix stood up to his full height and shook, trying to lessen the bite of the chill that still hung in the air. He was used to warmer climates, made up of eternal summers or at least springs. With their thin body coats, they were certainly not fitted for this place. But Riumrix said nothing in complaint, he instead merely stared at Hyperion, careful to not let his gaze drift down to the carcass in front of him - he would not be allowed to partake of the meal unless his master invited him to do so, and until then, it was as good as invisible to him. “Have you seen any of the others?” Just as with the rest of him - impressively tall, bulk in muscle, overly polite - his voice was at an extreme as well. It was in a deep bass that his vocals trembled, so even when he spoke softly it carried. And on the rare occasion that he saw fit to raise his voice? It bloomed through the terrain like thunder. “It is strange that it has taken us all this long to come up on each other, do you not think so?” Riumrix curled what there was of a tail around his paws, covering them and protecting them from the chill as he waited for his king to respond, but then he realized that Hyperion was too important to really have ever noticed him before. “I apologize for my rudeness. I am dubbed Riumrix, my lord.”

WC: 1046