Tuktu Weir Engorge

Shock colored his child's features and Jaganatha sneered slightly at her outburst. "At least you still have the sense to bow... Your surprise ill-suits a Cruor. We are always prepared - steadfast sentries. You were raised to know that, or have you forgotten?" he hissed, holding his head even higher to scowl down at his daughter. He growled deep in his chest at the mention of those who had once sworn their fealty to their kin, and gnashed his yellowed teeth as old fury again bubbled beneath the tightly stretched surface.

"The Blood proved heinously weak, diluted by too many years given to frivolity without the ordained bloodletting that befits a Cruor... They are dead, or dead to me," Jaganatha seethed, his hackles rising unbidden. It was clear in his tone that he would accept no more questions on the subject. His dark flecked brows twitched upwards a single stitch at the scowl that darkened his child's features, but the words that she uttered next raised a singular fury that burned like snake venom in his breast. His form bristled outwards, so that he seemed to grow further than his obscene bulk already permitted, and a roar escaped him like the death throes of a hurricane.

"What poison, what traitorous vitriol must have seeped into my bloodline, that a snake should wear the skin of my only son?! Has my example meant NOTHING TO HIM?! What fucking curse has been laid upon the name Cruor that my line should come to such a fate? Tell me, girl, what perversion has taken hold of his manhood that he would, nay COULD, utterly fail me so? Is my seed truly so weak?!" Jaganatha's unwavering baritone was one so wicked, it seemed likely to rend stone and soil and proud sequoia alike. His eyes had gone wildly alight with utter despisal of his son and the betrayal Vex had revealed to him.