Felltree Marsh the reds are coming

The hellhound slinks away from his cryptic islands once more. His need for violent entertainment hungers once more. Though Alduin doesn’t feel particularly murderous at the moment, but Banesteppe always does. He whispers tantalizing words of violence and death in his sensitive ears.

My cursed boy, it has been some time since you last killed. Your god requires more blood — better go sharpen your teeth. He says in that devilish voice. 

The spirits constant bothering leads the hellhound into the wading ocean and onto the mainland. Further, it leads to a familiar land with weeping willows. Their vines swish softly in the wind of the upcoming storm. It would rain soon. Good. Alduin would prefer to have his scent covered up as much as possible. 


Only then does Alduin recognize that this is the place he fought that woman. The woman he dunked in mud to cover his scent and left for dead. It’s likely she didn’t make it, but when he went back her body was not there. He can only hope she didn’t. 

So he moves languidly, blood red eyes on a constant swivel as he travels through the swampy wastelands. The place does have a certain charm to it though. Still, it isn’t enough to make him relax. So with his head level with massive shoulders, he slinks along the soft, mossy ground. 

Everything is normal, until he sees something dark in the distance. His eyes squint as he curiously moves closer until the shape becomes another wolf. Nostrils flare as he attempts to take in their scent and when he does he finds out his unexpected company is a male. Spotted auds twitch and shift as he listens to the forest around him, all while focusing on this new stranger. He looks to be about Alduin’s size, but it’s clear the brindled mutt carries more weight and bulk. While the other male is a touch leaner, his sleek black pelt makes him look dangerous and panther-like. 

He’s had enough looking from afar. So he slinks forward further. His approach wouldn’t be secretive, he would boldly move towards the dark furred man. Head still hung at his shoulders he would get close enough that his presence would be hard to ignore. Stopping at a comfortable distance, the hellhound doesn’t say a word, but his eyes hold a muted curiosity. Even as his head lifts slightly and he chuffs low in his throat to the other.

Meanwhile, Banesteppe would scoff. What are you doing, Alduin? He wonders with a touch of amusement. Are you not going to sink your teeth into him? Wouldn’t that pelt be beautiful with a nice sheen of red?

This, Alduin would ignore. Only acknowledging Banesteppe with a slight scowl on his face. He’s more focused on this man and how he may react to the godly sight that is Alduin Deagon-Sandraudiga.