They all ended up here eventually. Maybe some of them were still around after all these years - but he wasn’t hopeful. Oblivion liked being on his own, having no ties that kept him down, and most of all… no one to answer to. He didn’t live his life full out in the Exotican way like most of his relatives. He doesn’t revel at the sight of blood and gore. His mind isn’t touched by the slight bit of crazy that the rest of them seem to have. His beliefs are still aligned with what he was raised into, don’t get that twisted, but he isn’t as… exuberant about it. Perhaps the better term would be lazy when it comes to his duties as an Exotican prince.

He comes from a long and old lineage of devoted cultists. Their main goal is to make it to the afterlife with some ounce of respect - the way they earn that respect is through murder. After their homeland was destroyed some of them ventured as far as Moladion to seek a new life… or rather, new lives to take. But many of them remained until Hyperion returned. His cousin had much to say about this new world, a lot of it was good, but it wasn’t without its faults. Even so, to an Exotican, adversity is welcomed with grinning, bloodied teeth. A few more dared to travel out to Moladion upon hearing of its stories and Oblivion was now one of the last to make an attempt. Maybe he is late to the party but that won’t stop him from having a good time.

As he comes in from the west his path takes him through a large woodland, between two packs, and skirting a massive valley. All of these things he has seen before, perhaps slightly different, but essentially the same. Once you’ve seen the vastness of a crater or the dark secrecy of one wood then you’ve pretty much seen them all. He was far more interested in Hyperion’s brief tales of an ocean toward the east - that was one thing Oblivion had yet to experience.

The rolling hills between the northern plains pack and what appeared to be a rocky ravine pack blocked his view of any distant ocean even if there was one. But he very well may be too far inland to see it either way. For his travels he had become rather thirsty and made a snap decision to settle at the nearby lake to quench himself before setting off again. But as he redirected toward the body of water, a statuesque figure caught his fiery gaze. Her exotic colors were unlike anything he had yet to see, the burning auburn of her coat catching fire under the early setting rays of the evening sun. If Oblivion were anything besides lazy it would be instinctual; and his instincts were going wild for this girl.

With winter breathing heavily down upon them he felt the urge to approach her but was cautious not to scare her off with an overt display. Instead, he barked once, signaling his presence and jogged smoothly toward the blood-fire femme. His luscious, alabaster coat bounced with every graceful step he took and his molten eyes glued to her delicately regal face. His pace slows as he comes to stop with a respectable distance between them both. ”You are glowing with beauty,” his voice rings in the silence with a pleasant deep timbre.