Blackfeather Woods evil's soft first touches

The devil had not intended to happen across the dark wood. He had finished his business with the three women. He had ventured and left them behind. The tail of the red girl was still clutched in his mouth. He had not left it. Ithrik would claim it as a prize for as long as he could. He thirsted to add to his collection; he ached to find the young girl again to finish his job. The long-legged hound had trekked across snowy steppes and ribbons of endless nothings. He had gone long enough and his intentions were to find his next meal, but then he had happened upon Iliksis' scent. For this, he diverted his path and followed it to the edges of a pack border. It was marked clearly and had recently been refreshed. Ithrik found the nearest marking and dropped to the earth to roll against it.

Rising back to his feet, the spindly reaper turned back and breathed in the scent of those who would dwell in the wood. The cover of the trees was thick and had saved much of their forest floor from the heavy snowfall. There were many bodies within. This was what intrigued the hound most of all. He prayed deeply for young blood. It had been so long since he had relished the limb of a child. They were always so easy to prey on – weak and powerless. Ithrik could not hope for anything more.

The devil drew back his head and yipped from the borders. His sharp tangerine gaze peered into the woods as he waited. Part of him wished to see the dull yellow eyes of his good nephew. Iliksis had been a bad boy and Ithrik was there to ensure the receipt of his punishment. He was interested to know if the boy had found the wolves of the wilds to be just as sweet and untroublesome as most children were before their death. He wondered how many were there. The patchwork fiend was engrossed in these lands and the prey that stretched before him. He thought he should stay for some time; he would certainly reap the reward.

The yearling smiles almost wickedly as the call of yet another sounds out steadily, echoing through the dark woods. Drawing himself through the shadows to plant himself before the stranger, desolate optics pierce the coming night as they focus on the man before him. "Speak." He indicates for the other to explain his presence upon his borders, especially since apparently, he had already rubbed his scent all over it. Though Vaati could not image why anyone would want their coat to hold the remnants of decomposed innards. Odd, Vaati remarks within his conscious, noting how utterly feral the other came off, a feeling quite similar to the other one who had arrived at the bloodied line not too long ago. Something about the first one had concerned him. Concerned him in the way that perhaps the first one's blatant disposition for bloodlust would prove untameable. Yet, he waits to make a judgement call about this one, awaiting the tone of how the other spoke, and what words he used to convince Vaati that his input was something they would value.

It did not take long before the fiend was met along the bloodied border. Ithrik watched with a calculating gaze. His molten eyes were trained on the gait of the pale wolf who had come to greet him with a quick pleasantry. It offered little room for formalities. This was fine. Ithrik was not fond of small talk. His dark lips curled upward in a small smile. The tips of his rotten canines peered from beneath the thin leathery line. The alabaster brute was painted in scars. He appeared a warrior of his kind, but the devil wasn’t particularly interested in this observation. He was curious how the stranger would hold himself on a communicative level. Typically, those riddled with proof of war were not eloquent in the social aspects of their lives. Already, the alpha of the wood was proving to be direct. That was not to say he would lack tact entirely. It simply seemed an unlikely event. 

Blinking slowly, Ithrik lowered his head in the customary standard and dropped his tail. He knew well enough. Still, his dark lips were curled in a sinister smirk. ”My nephew seems to have travelled this way. His trail leads to your borders. Iliksis is dear to me. I should like to be with him. I can offer you my skills,” the frightful creature said. His voice was high in pitch and seemed to dance through the air like a drifting fog. Ithrik then waited, for surely this brute would inquire what it was exactly that he could offer. 

sorry for the wait, and the short post. i've been super busy but i'll try to be quicker :)

His assumption had not been wrong. The relation between the man and his apparent nephew was not something he questioned, deeming the similarities in feel alone believable. "I assume your skills are not so different than the nature of his. In that case, I will grant you what you request. Am I wrong?" It is a different approach than usual; getting straight to the point rather than psychoanalyzing the other to a point. What he means to say is: they need willing bodies capable to fight. While medics and counselors and rangers are useful in their own right, their current market looks for killers. Bloodthirsty, war-hungry barbarians -- all the better.

Surprise; it seemed that this pale scarred brute had already happened upon Iliksis and had granted him acceptance into the pack borders. The devil was not only shocked by this, but pleased beyond a point of expression. His leathery lips twisted upward and twitched into a queer little grin. The points of his rotten canines poked out from beneath his lips as he did so.

Ithrik did not know what Iliksis had sold himself as. By this same token, he did not want to oversell himself or his skills. If his nephew had been granted access into the pack, it would be as simple as agreeing with the pallid male's comment and offering his own – similar – set of skills for the taking. With a quick little nod of his head, the reaper drew his tongue across his mouth and his smile faded away. “No,” he hissed.

“You are not wrong.”

He is not wrong. "Good." Vaati nods with a rigid approval, expecting nothing more from the other than to earn his keep. He moves to the side in an action that permits the other to enter the endarkened haven they have made their home. Perhaps he will not stick around -- they rarely ever did -- but for however long the man wished to stay would benefit the dark woods. However simple lodging and a family reunion was not the only thing he hoped would come out of their presence, of course. Blackfeather Woods was perhaps a sinking ship, but was there not always hope on the horizon that a dark, mysterious stranger would come along and deliver a miracle that Vaati could not? An interesting theory, one that Vaati would have liked to be true but could not wholeheartedly believe. Instead of offering the man an introductory tour around the premise of the woods, he leaves the other to become reacquainted with this nephew of his, and retreats to search out the whereabouts of his own uncle.

Good.

Ithrik did not show his surprise, but he found it incredibly odd that the pallid creature would not request further knowledge. It seemed that Iliksis had sold himself well, and so the devil did not wish to tarnish this by speaking further. Instead, he allowed the leader of the territory appraise him with a gaze before turning to depart into the depths of his own woods. The hound watched him go and did not move for the longest time, wondering if there were others with a lack of instinctual concern over his presence. Without a name or title, Ithrik wandered into the dark and wild forest with a curious eye, sniffing for signs of his family before abandoning the search at the hint of young within the territory.