Hideaway Strath Machinery

It had not been long since her last home had gone to pieces. The fighting had been a massacre, chaos and a mess. War had fought her way through the battlefield to return home, only to find no one there. Her mind had let her linger on her old home, she left as soon as she knew it was over. There was nothing left there for her, no one, nothing and freedom wasn’t an option. She was not accustomed to this free roaming, she had been trained, combed her entire life to become a machine – and a machine she was.

She traveled to the west and without knowing it she had reached new territories. She didn’t speak much to anyone, didn’t do anything but survive. She needed a purpose, a fight, a master of machines, someone who could fix the broken parts of the machinery. War had never changed in her life, she knew nothing but the fight, the blood the cold sweat of the nights when it came to haunt her. She was broken without knowing it.

She had passed up a few places that had marked a territory, but it didn’t feel quite right yet. It wasn’t until she reached a valley that something about it resonated with her. She sniffed the border and the strong scent told her that this place was clearly not for outsiders. She had not come across a scent this strong in a while and she liked it.

War did notice the skeletons. Huge, looming and a warning. Her ears flickered lightly, and she knew. This was the place she needed this was the grandmaster of machines. She howled. Deep and long, she howled to announce her presence. War did not sit but stood waiting, her massive body looming as the sun behind her dragged her shadow across the land, towering over the skeleton of the slain wolves by the borders. She didn’t feel afraid, nor terrified, she felt a purpose coming, a sense of thrill for the things awaiting her. The chaos was over now, the war of acceptance was starting. She knew war. She knew this.

Let the battle begin.

First to the call was none other than the Empress.
Nyra materialized from the light fog that had settled over the rocky slopes and inclines that formed the Gates - the entrance to the Strath. 
With sunset upon them, the reddened tint to the sub-land may look all the more eerie, especially as the Alpha came forth, monolithic and towering, aura radiating heavily with authority and raw power, with unmarked, stark white fur and hellfire gold for eyes, that altogether, may have given the first impression of either a spirit...

Or a god.

Taking brief note of the red newcomer's size, the Battle Phoenix stopped before War and wasted no time.
"These are the lands of the Saints of the Dying Light. I am Nyra, Alpha of the Saints." 
State your name and your purpose was the part left out. Nyra assumed the woman at her door knew that the reason for her presence was expected to be given. It was a no-brainer by now, and with children to look after, plus their pregnant High Priestess, the Empress was keen on skipping most of the pleasantries and getting to the point. For now, at least, it was better that way.

Kynareth’s next in line. The brindled brute trots with strides of purpose at the sound of another towards the Gates of both Heaven and Hell. Heaven for the Saints, Hell for poor little outsiders. Unless willingly accepted into the pack of hellhounds, one would find themselves ripped to pieces and added to their welcome committee — the bear, coyotes, and wolf skeletons.

As he approaches, he finds Nyra. Always dutifully answering a call even with her pup. He’s impressed, but he can’t say he’s surprised, he’s always impressed by her. Either way, his trot slows and his curled tail bobs at his hips as he’s strides confidently over to the pair. 

The wolf that greets his eyes is oh so interesting. Made of bloody reds, midnight black, and enchanting whites, shes unlike many wolves he’s seen before. Instantly, he can tell shes battle warn. The scars and overall look of her. He likes that. A smirk comes to his lips, it contorts his face handsomely as he comes to settle beside his Overseer.

“Welcome stranger. Kynareth Deagon, Grandmaster of the Saints.” He introduces evenly, deep tone rumbling from his lips. “Need somethin’?” He hums in question with a sly tilt of his head.

War does not shift, change, nor becomes phased with what comes toward her at the gate she awaits at. A snow-white wolf with yellow eyes approaches her, a confident stride and a strong gaze, immediately she senses power and confidence, admirable traits to her. War does not move, the machinery has stopped, standing perfectly still she awaits until the other comes to her and speaks.

"These are the lands of the Saints of the Dying Light. I am Nyra, Alpha of the Saints."

”Saints of the dying light… I like that.” War does not smile however, not because she didn’t want to but because she knew not how. Ranks held all meaning in her universe and standing in front of an alpha was a sight to behold, if War had been raised to courtesy she would have bowed, but she was raised for war and destruction, the chaos that could unfold and nothing less, nothing more.

”I am War.” There was no motion or emotion to detect from War, she blinked and that was all the movement there was when she did not speak. She was about to speak further when another wolf came to the gates. A male of different shades of brown, also striking yellow eyes. He smirks and greets her as well the masters had come to the machine’s calling and they were looking upon her with some sort of admiration.

“Welcome stranger. Kynareth Deagon, Grandmaster of the Saints.” War looks at the male now, her movement almost mechanically, alienated from a wolf’s movement. Had War been raised normally she would have bowed and greeted him too, but her emotionless face gave away that she indeed wasn’t a normal wolf of words and courtesy. She wasn’t born an imbecile but raised a warrior, she knew when to growl, put her ears back and when to attack. Put formal greetings and socialization with her packmates had not been top priority to her teachings.

”I am War.” She stated once more to the other wolf.

“Need somethin’?”

Chaos.

”Yes.

Fight – blood – crushing limps and the destruction of life.

”I need someone to fight for.”

In a noble sense she needed a cause, but that was beyond War. She did not seek out glory, ambition or rank. She just wanted to fight, just wanted to tear, rip to pieces and see the blood flow and let it haunt her in her dreams.

”My home broke. Too weak.” She stated it bluntly, simply and there was nothing else to it than that. She still looked at the male, nothing else about her had changed or moved since he first had arrived. She looked blankly at him with no real expression but the one of a cold piece of metal. There was nothing to see on her face, nothing to read into.

”Are you the one?” She asked them both. The alphas of saints of a dying light, a light that had never touched War.

War was without light.

I am War. 

Nyra immediately recognizes that this new she-wolf knew only combat and blood. There was almost nothing organic in the silver gaze - no emotion. No soul. All machine. An ear turned as her co-lead approached, but her amber eyes stayed on War as she answered Kynareth's question.

In the following silence, Nyra silently knew that if she hadn't been born into a cult, her birthplace would have been much the same as War's was. But, this was not the case.

And yet, she resonated. 

"We will give you a cause. As long as you can hunt for food and fight, we welcome you." She turned her eyes to Donovan then, as if asking if he had anything to add or any objections.

Oh. Kynareth likes this one. So willing to spill blood. Borderline emotionless — robotic. Oh yes, she’d be dangerous. He wants her. He needs more who are more willing to tear apart another wolf without so much as a thought to if or should they do it. Not mindless, but willingly violent. He can see that she isn’t just a husk, there’s intelligence in that silvery gaze of hers. 

Yes. He needs her. 

“War.” Kynareth purrs with interest when Nyra looks his way to add something. “Oh, you’d definitely find a reason to fight here. We welcome you.” The brindled brute hums.

A confident aura is about him. He lifts his head, his lips spread into a grin. “You came just in time. We’re about to head into a war too.”

“Welcome to the hunt, darling. Make yourself at home.” He ends with that same sadistic excitement he always has when speaking of their upcoming war. He’s too glad to add another fellow fighter into their family of misfits.

"We will give you a cause. As long as you can hunt for food and fight, we welcome you."

At first she was confused. Was this not the cause for every wolf in history? Hunt, fight, die, breed? Maybe the wolf had other intention unknown to War, but hunt and fight she could indeed. It was all she knew, breeding had never succumbed to her, she didn’t understand it, didn’t feel it and death? Not an option – not yet.

”I do both.” and more was implied in that sentence. A cause was good a fight was better.

“War. Oh, you’d definitely find a reason to fight here. We welcome you.” War looks at the male who speaks with this voice she does not understand, almost like a cat purring he speaks her name and she almost makes a head tilt, but the compulsion is stopped. They have both given reason to her, both accepted her as one of their own. She was willing to fight here, a place with a gate of death.

The male smiles “You came just in time. We’re about to head into a war too.” War’s fur bristles with excitement at the words, her ears perking slightly up at the sound of her name called to action. Yes. This was what she had been hoping for, this was the reason she was here and she felt adrenaline pump through her veins, a small rush of excitement. ”I am ready.” Ready to fight, ready to kill and ready to become haunted once more.

“Welcome to the hunt, darling. Make yourself at home.” Home. She takes a careful step forward toward the gate, toward the other two wolves and then the careful step becomes a confident one and soon she enters the gate, headed in the same direction as those who have accepted War into their midst. War wasn’t bound to change or alter, instead she would shape the outcome of the battle. She was indeed ready for war.

She stepped into the light.