Black Morass abyssus abyssum invocat

golden eyes burn as he watches the man bow and retreat a step—good. the gesture spares him immediate violence. but kóvictus’s lip still curls, a deep growl vibrating low in his throat. theissor is close, a shadow at his flank; this earns him a knowing nod from the dominus.

the tongue spoken catches him off guard. latin. familiar, rough on the ears, but understood. this earns him... impression.

he studies the man’s frame—tall, built like a gladiator. there is strength there, though his submissiveness irritates him.

he is smart to think it is what may be appealing. but it is strength, often arrogance, and hot blood which impresses the man. he is not insecure. it is how theissor earned a quick place at his side.

now he will speak their shared tongue. you claim no harm, he observes, stepping closer. yet you cross my borders like a thief in the fog. speak, then. why should i let you live? why should imperium not bury your bones beneath its mud?