The relief that Rogan felt upon securing Caidir Olc could not be accurately described. For seasons he had followed in the shadow of his sweoster, diligently ensuring she stay fed and safe despite the danger lurking around every corner. Many might not believe that vampires feared anything; the red-eyed predators preyed on fellow hunters, after all, making their meals out of the most dangerous prey available. Rogan himself regularly dined on mountain lions when he could find them. Yet even the fanged beasts had to stalk their nighttime kingdom carefully, for although they enjoyed sitting at the apex of the food chain most of the time, they were forced to avoid their single mortal enemy: the Tempests. Those blue-eyed bastards wanted to wipe vampires from the face of this land. They had attacked Diosa - a truly kind femme with a heart of glass - and injured her badly. They would have killed the innocent princess if Rogan had not charged into the fray, called by his maker to battle at her side. Without a territory to protect them, the russet knight and his shadowy lady wandered like outcast curs through the unclaimed wilds of Blossom… restless, homeless, forever alert for that hated sapphire glow and the violence their collision would trigger.

Rogan had watched as his precious Diosa waned, the moon of her spirit growing thinner and more fragile as time passed. He knew without asking that eventually his queen would lose herself to the darkness festering in her chest if he could not intervene. The notion of his maker’s suffering repulsed him - so when their original kingdom became habitable once again, the rust-hued hessian lunged at the opportunity with his teeth eagerly bared. He brought bodies into Caidir Olc to make it a true home, one that the Tempests could not drive them out of without a bitter war. He’d started to cultivate a small faction of wolves who selflessly provided their blood so that the vampires never need fear starvation. Recently, the temporary Vampire King had created his own saidu: a man named Ghost who seemed to crave the chance to be useful. Even with winter encroaching on every side, his jungle home remained warm enough to sustain prey and nestle its ferocious members comfortably in its humid, green-leafed embrace. Thing were good now. At last. The burden chained around Rogan’s neck had been released. He felt weightless. Content. The only thing that could possibly make him happier would be to see Diosa smile more often…

That, or obtain new recruits. Rogan’s desires for Caidir did not stop at “safehouse.” He wanted an army, a formidable force at his paws he could dispense upon his enemies at a whim. If he met his goals, Blossom would shiver at the mere mention of his pack. A den of fangs and bloodthirsty monsters… demons that savagely protected their own, and destroyed anybody that dared threaten their nest.

Perhaps it was this urge to cultivate a dark-aligned military that had Rogan so confused when he heard the weak, pitiful howl near his borders. What was that? A puppy? A DYING puppy? His sooty brow furrowed in confusion, massive paws already taking him toward the source of the oddly thin noise. Could this be a trick? Something innocuous and nonthreatening to lure him out into an ambush? Ruby lanterns flashed, ash-and-rust hackles lifting slightly along his broad back. Rogan was a stray dog no more. He wore a crown now - if someone wanted to play a stupid trick on him, he’d drain the blood from their veins and hang the husk of their corpse upon a tree for any tresspassers to stare at.

Although deep blackness swaddled the forest floor, Rogan’s bright vampire vision illuminated his path. Pulsating crimson sliced through broad leaves and leapt from smooth bark; when he reached the outer wall, that same glow poured over the young lad who waited for him, painting pale grey fur in a hellish overtone. Rogan paused a yard or so away from the pup, tail flying high and snout pointed imperiously upward. This boy smelled of… well, not quite sickness... perhaps the threat of sickness? A definite weakness was betrayed in his scent, mingled with the vaguely citrus snap of fear jetting through his circulatory system. And if the pitiful smell weren’t enough to alert Rogan to this stranger’s frailty, the lad’s crumpled-paper posture surely did. The poor creature hardly appeared strong enough to hold his bony frame upright.

“Did you come here to die?” Not a threat - Rogan spoke this out of genuine curiosity, voice gruff but not harsh. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone had asked him to end it all - but it would be the first occasion coming from a wolf so young. “If so, I’ll be happy to help you out. I have been told I am very efficient. But perhaps… you are here for a home?” The big burly vampire leaned down, head tilted curiously.