Cassiopeia's View you can dip your feet once in a little while

It didn't take long for Slade to catch the sound of voices in his woods, or raather the woods he called himself claiming temporarily for solace. It was usually a quiet abode, dark, and shrouded in infamous mists that had the intimate pleasure of tricking eyes. This place was home to Slade, the King of Nightmares, though it was a lonesome job ruling only yourself. He had plans, though. These woulds had pulled him into a more savage sense of mind, and with his age, he knew something as twisted and lovely as scaring strangers couldn't last forever, so with the incoming age, Slade had decided he would mellow out. Or atleast seem like he had.

Deep strides, calm, silent, he walked towards the voices in his ominous lair. The mists unfurled before him as a carpet of mystery, both shedding before him and encompassing him. A massive wolf he was, Mackenzie running pure and evident through his veins, though with such size, one would wonder how even a Mackenzie could be so enormous. A King was how he held himself as he approached the two, though he kept his tail soft, the silken serpinetine banner hanging comfortably by muscled hocks.

A cream and snow man sat with his little jester, the confused little yearling he had taken under his flaw not too long ago. He was making a nice smidge of wark bringing wolves from all over to meet Slade's approval, and this alone was enough to please him. Even if he was a horrible recruiter, the chimera was apt and vivid, ensnaring wolves with his stories, and bringing them to where he considered 'home' to be.
Right to Slade.

"Greetings, newcomer. I am Slade, the wolf which Loki here raves to you about. I appreciate your patience in hearing his banter."

Kindly baritones rumbled from deep in the abyss of the behemoth, a voice near godlike in timbre. Volcanic irises set on the older male, a soft barage of colors molded on the company. He seemed able, humble. But what of him?