Bonesplinter Ravine I need to listen good,

@Reyna

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Qvasir moved with the calculated silence of a shadow, his steps barely stirring the dry underbrush as he prowled near the edge of the unfamiliar territory. His amber eyes scanned each twisted branch, every fallen leaf, marking the invisible boundaries the pack must have laid, though none of it kept him at bay. There was a thrill in skirting these unseen lines, a curiosity smoldering beneath his dark exterior as he pressed closer, testing, wondering just how far he could go without bringing anyone to his attention.

He could almost taste the tension, the faint scent trails daring him to cross that invisible threshold. They marked this land with purpose, as if to ward off creatures like him, the ones who could slip through the cracks and go unnoticed. Qvasir’s lip curled faintly in amusement; he wasn’t the type to turn back for a line drawn in the dirt. No, he was here to observe, to linger just at the edge, feeling the limits of this pack’s vigilance. How long, he wondered, before someone took notice?

it wouldn't take long at all.

checking upon the ravine to see if death was on her side and gifted her with an offering of food — instead she is met with the scent of a stranger. too many had begun to within the shadows her palace casted. and she's had too little time and men to exterminate the vermin that sought to live under her roof but not her rule.

red eyes search for the source of the scent, but the wraith did not dare venture closer to greet it.

His gaze found her first, a creature whose beauty was both ethereal and perilous, a deadly gleam softened only by a pale coat that shimmered like frost. Blending shades of white and gold framed her with an almost ethereal glow, though her stillness suggested she could strike without warning—a silent tempest poised to cut him down if she willed it.

A grin cracked across his face, shadowed and wild, as he tilted his head, studying her from a respectful distance. Then, he called out, his voice edged with a chilling sharpness.

Señorita, his voice lilted through the shadows, low and arresting, reverberating against the walls of the ravine, is this how you greet your guests?

a brute of dark back and earthly underbelly, built and painted much like a mountain, had found her territory. or the edges of it, the vague line between what's hers and what is yet unclaimed. the scent he carries is foreign to her; perhaps he's unaffiliated with the rats that scurry in the dark overcast of her kingdom.

doña. she corrects through a crooked smile. of course. though i do not consider those that hide within shadows guests. they are more akin to predators stalking their prey. the queen tilts her head, her smile never fading. nevertheless he is a stranger, and though he speaks in the silk of her mother tongue, she has seen this same story before. she will not be swept up into the arms of another basilisk.

Qvasir’s brow lifted with a touch of intrigue, his lips curving into a slow, roguish smile as he dipped his head in subtle acknowledgment. Ah, Doña, my sincerest apologies, he murmured, voice rich with warmth, carrying a hint of playfulness beneath his polished tone. It seems my words pale in the presence of such a title. A true leader deserves words of more fire, no?

He let his gaze linger, tracing the sharpness of her features, the strength that lay just beneath her elegance, a quality he clearly admired. Though, I must confess, he continued, his voice dropping just a notch, if I am indeed the stranger at your borders, perhaps I am no predator… but a guest fortunate enough to bask in the light of your kingdom.

His eyes sparkled, one corner of his mouth lifting in a barely-there smirk. And what a kingdom it must be, with such a fierce Doña at its helm

the man offers her a dance of flirtation. that playfulness in his voice, that glint in his eyes and the flash of his toothy grin a glimpse into his true beastial instinct. it’s painfully familiar. time and time again, like a moth to a flame, the queen is drawn to men like him.

reyna tilts her head. she forgets that two can play at this game. if you truly are a guest.. she hums, playing coy for just a moment before craning her head. .. then bow. the wraith’s smile widens.

i haven’t seen you bend the knee to me. how else will i know you deserve to get a taste of my kingdom? reyna stands tall, crimson eyes eager to watch the tower fall. but she mustn’t be too harsh. even in brutes lies potential.
her commands dwindle, her next words feather-soft murmurs. please understand. far too many have come to my borders to take from me and my people. is it not my duty to ensure those that enter truly deserve to bask in La Muerte’s holiness?

Qvasir’s sharp grin softened into something more refined as Ddoña’s words swept over him, a melody of coyness and command. Her crimson eyes sparkled with the challenge she issued, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on her, unreadable yet steady. Then, with a smooth step forward, he dipped his head low and bent at the shoulders, the bow deliberate and elegant.

When he rose, there was no trace of mockery in his expression, only a deep-seated respect tempered with his signature charm. His voice, rich and unhurried, filled the space between them.

Qvasir, he began, his amber eyes lifting to meet hers, unwavering, at your holiest disposal, Doña.

A flicker of that toothy grin reappeared, playful but restrained, a hint of the beast beneath the surface. You’ve made your kingdom a thing worth reverence, and I would be a fool not to honor it. His tone shifted, warmer now, though still steeped in that glint of roguishness. To taste it, as you say, would be a privilege I’d earn—on my knees, if need be.

His tail flicked lightly behind him as he straightened fully, his gaze locked onto hers, a quiet but palpable promise resting in the air between them.

surprise lifts her brows for a moment, but quickly dashed by a rush of pride. when their eyes met again, the crimson flames softened to soft roses. plucked of their thorns.

reyna. finally does she turn her back to qvasir, and with the gentle cock of her head gestures him to follow.
follow me, and you will get that taste.
she did not take his promise seriously, but at the very least if she is tricked she can say he’d broken his word.

Qvasir would follow Reyna. Her name meant just as much as she had been: queen. A queendom is not what he expected to follow, a harem of disciples following a woman. But he'd go along with it.

For now, anyways.

Through the chasms he'd follow her. A dog on a leash, though if he'd wanted to, could easily snap with a brace of his sharp teeth. She could crack beneath his grip, like swatting a fly.

But he didn't let the thoughts fester. A new life was upon him, and he allowed the change.

exit qvasirrr