Ankyra Sound people don't understand the word ruthless

jagtooth, given information to mull over after he's seen aurëwen safely back to her home, makes his way west after some hesitation. part of him had wanted to venture back south, to explore some of the packs on his own. the information she'd given had been helpful to the ex-cardinal but it felt incomplete and though he appreciated her offered wisdom of what she'd known he wasn't entirely satisfied. was he looking for peace? not really. he wasn't at a point in his life yet where he was ready to make peace and lead a quiet, monk-like life for the rest of his years. a holy man at unrest? giving into the temptation of adventure and thrills of life? sounded positively ungodly; which was exactly why jagtooth wasn't ready to give it up. there was a distinct lack of holiness in death, in bathing in the crimson of lifeblood spilled without remorse, in the shadows of those he'd felled in his life standing like invisible sentries at his back; all for a little bit of briefly held kingdoms. jagtooth summit'd been his longest standing reign, his couronnement, the crowning jewel in his collection.

it was why he was so pretentious with its memory, donning it as his own name in favor of one that spoken more of his fervent youth. a name that befit one of his wayward children — a soft huff of ( unending ) disappointment slips from betwixt his lips as he thinks of blackheart and mötley — more than it did himself in the coming years of his life.

the morning is by far the chilliest they've been in the days since his arrival in the wilds, the clear dawn sky still dark, riddled with stars and not yet split with the pastel colors of the sunrise. there were a few more hours left until it would begin to peek over the horizon and though he originally plans to skirt the pack's borders and keep moving it is sudden impulse that slows his footfalls to a stop and draws forth a call that alerts the pack's inhabitants to his presence and interest at their borders.

should it not appeal to him or should they send him away he'd move on, maybe inspect one of the packs that aurëwen had mentioned with a bit more consideration than he'd offered her words when she'd first given them to him.

there was a bitter cold sinking its teeth into the forest, settling atop the monoliths like an oppressive tyrant in which none could escape. for the most part, the bosk was quiet -- cold had a strange way of silencing all things with its austerity, including life.

caiaphas had been cursing her decision to come out and patrol along the fringes when she heard the call - guessing it was better she was already out than deep within the grotto, she made for the distant source at an unhurried pace -- not because she was used to the luxury of others waiting upon her, but rather because the cold had made the snowpack icy, and she was in no position to be reaggravating old wounds by slipping and falling.

at length she came across a gnarled looking wolf a respectful distance away - at first glance she was reminded of mahler -- the strange male that had not occupied her thoughts since his slinking departure from grimnismal. but this man was not mahler, though she argued he might be cut of a similar hardened cloth. apprising him with a careful gaze, the siren was silent -- but her expression clearly conveyed the unspoken question that lingered between them -- what do you want?

shoulders haunch against the chilling breeze as it ruffles the fur at his nape, coarse to keep him warm during the frigid months of winter, as he waits. he should be hunkered down, slumbering until the sun rose in the sky — though he knows the sun doesn't necessarily mean the day will get warmer. he passes the time between his call and the arrival of the hooded woman by studying what he can see of the internal territory and the scents that clings to the borders. the territory alone doesn't tell him much, admittedly.

the hooded woman doesn't speak but her question was easy enough to read upon her expression and after offering a submissive dip of his head — ah, how long it's been since the ex-cardinal has played the role of a submissive! — and upon it's return to a neutral position he breaks the silence held between them spoken words i come with the intent of seeking information about your pack and to inquire if you have room for me.

caiaphas, in all honesty, had never much relished the grim obeisance she observed of joiners and loners alike, coming to court some unknown kingdom's borders. many times she had been in their shoes, and many times she had stifled her own fiercely burning pride to dip her head, to act like some submissive cur before a cruel leader -- it was not her style, and even seeing it exhibited in other wolves brought forth a prickle of that old bile, for she was no ones' servant but her own.

she returned the male's show of submission with a blank smile almost as frigid as the cold that sank around them. "there is room, if you are willing to be a contributor and not a freeloader. this is rusalka, a pack of the coast."

jagtooth observes the hooded woman and the smile she offers him. it's a severe and frigid thing, he notes. she is a stark contrast to the warmth that aurëwen emitted; quieter too. though jagtooth cannot claim that he actually minds that change of pace. aurëwen is warm and she is chatty because she is young ( or so he thinks ). he would pin the hooded woman that stands before him at somewhere near his own age. the usurper has came across many different types of personalities during his life and it took much to scare him off. to the point where he was almost certain nothing scared him anymore.

i understand, it was the stipulations for all packs, he felt. what pack wanted to carry around the dead weight of a wolf that contributed nothing? jagtooth hadn't tolerated that and he certainly doesn't expect anyone else to. she doesn't really tell him much just a name and the region — one of which he'd already guessed. i have skills to offer. i'm a decent warrior, he was being modest; you had to be more than decent to usurp and hold your position. and although age keeps me from being as ...spritely as i once was i can defend borders, escort wolves on missions and offer tutorage.

i'm good with words and i'm not a bad meditator, he gives a small pause here. i was regarded as something of a holy man in my last pack — because he took it and he deemed himself sacrosanct with the crimson bloodflow that named him victor and usurper of jagtooth summit. — though i like to think of myself as more of a jack of all trades, if you will. he was adaptable, if nothing else.

caiaphas's features remained inscrutable as the male graciously provided his skills, revealing a bit more about him by the manner in which he spoke, than by the words he divulged. in examining him, caiaphas had already come to the conclusion he was a hardy wolf -- hearing it reaffirmed by his own words only reinforced her original suspicion he might be more than a simple loner.

of all that he said, the one thing that gave her pause was the mention of being regarded as a holy man in a past pack-life. caiaphas had once been pious, in her younger and more zealous years -- and age had shown her if there were any gods, they had long since turned their back on this realm. while she had little qualms with a wolf following some divine code, she would not abide by that wolf forcing its religion upon them -- and if this male in particular believed himself worthy of worship, he would have to prove his worth by the irrefutable script of blood, rather than by words or long-winded sermons.

"it sounds as if you would not be dead weight after all. but before you make up your mind, perhaps you should know of the pack you wish to join. we have unfriendly neighbors - they have killed one, and kidnapped another -- and attempted to kill several of ours. we keep to ourselves until we have been wronged, and now we find ourselves at the brim of war. we do not need mediators or holy men, but we will need fighters and tutelage, as there are several here who have yet experienced little beyond skirmishes."

the hooded woman makes her judgement of him, assessing by his words that he would not be dead weight. he would not, but he understands that she doesn't know that. every wolf accepted into her ranks was a risk until proven otherwise — at least, this was how jagtooth had always looked at it. words were grand but true worth was measured by action and viable achievements as opposed to boasts. she informs him about troublesome neighbors, stating that they've killed one of their own and kidnapped another. all serious transgressions. acts of war if there ever was such a thing. he thinks of the blithe aure and has trouble grouping her with kidnappers and murderers; and is left to quietly ponder if the expecting mother is even aware that her pack stands accused.

i have no intentions of converting anyone, i assure you. those days are long behind me. spoken with a soft chuckle. she didn't specifically bring it up but he assumes by her words 'we have no use for holy men' that it's possibly a concern of her's. conversion was not understood the same way between them, jagtooth thinks, and if he's being perfectly honest with himself he's far too old to be usurping anyone anymore. his time as a conquerer are of a gloried past ...not his future.

if you accept me i will be more than happy to mentor those who need tutored in the art of war, and i'll fight if called upon to do so.

caiaphas would have been happy, had she known jagtooth interacted with aure, to mention that aure was like as not cut from the same cloth. she might have even pointed out the white-washed woman had treated the very wounds drageda had inflicted, if she was so pressed. she did not know of her daughter's attempt on aure's life, but the imagined scene would have likely drawn an amused grin across the specter's features.

jagtooth seemed, to caiaphas, a worthy wolf to welcome into the fold. they had need for new blood, and need also, for hardened warhounds - particularly given the trouble their neighbors had generously placed (to her mind) on their door.

"well, that is settled." she motioned for the brute to follow her. "i can show you the rendezvous - you can pick your own quarters from there."