Duskfire Glacier suuya

AW!

the wind cut sharp along the glacier’s edge.
faust stood at the helm of the frozen lake, its surface vast and glasslike, a jagged mirror to the sky above. the aurora had not yet come, but the stars glistened like shards of ice scattered across the heavens.
his breath came slow, steady, curling from his nostrils in thin wisps of frost. the cold did not bite as it once had—he had made his home here now, claimed it as his own. darukaal. the blood talon.
he could smell the lake beneath the ice, dark and fathomless, the water trapped beneath winter’s hold. soon, it would begin to thaw. soon, the land would stir.

snagging this ;;

ice creaked and groaned beneath the weight of a behemoth. threatening to crack, threatening to swallow him whole, and yet he did not care. each step was heavy, each paw holding the weight of the world. the weight of a soldier. 

a seal's head grasped in his maw, his eyes burning with the remnants of the kill. another step closer to solid ground. iosef would endure, as he always has. death could not catch him, least not yet. 

there's a figure on the horizon, overlooking the frozen lake he tread across. eyes narrow, lips curl. he hates being watched. but whatever this figure may be, he'd face it too, with the strength of a thousand men.

faust did not speak as he moved toward the figure, the steady weight of his steps pressing deep into the snow. he was not one for wasted words, nor for empty stares. the man before him was broad, built like a fortress against the cold, his presence carrying the silent weight of something endured. something survived.
he sized him up—not with hostility, but with the keen awareness of a warrior recognizing another. there was no fear, only quiet assessment, the flick of his green gaze raking over the fresh kill, the way blood still clung to his maw. capable.
faust’s breath curled in the cold, misting between them. he stopped just short, neither inviting nor dismissing the stranger’s presence, his own body still as the glacier beneath them.
waiting

when they meet, iosef spits the head of the seal onto the snow. a spray of crimson stains the white, just as it stains his maw and his barreled chest. he grunts, his eyes assessing. the man is formidable, no doubt. 

"don't like it when people stare." his voice is deep, raspy, and heavily accented. he shifts on sturdy limbs, eyes narrowed. guarded, but not hostile. not yet. 

his gaze turns to sweep across the tundra. "why you here?"

faust watches him, expression flat, unreadable, but his stance is easy—measured. he takes in the heavyset build, the stained chest, the brutal efficiency with which the seal’s head is discarded. a man of strength. a man of purpose.
didn’t know i needed a reason. his voice is low, edged with dry amusement, but he doesn’t break eye contact.
he shifts slightly, adjusting his weight, the cold biting through the thick of his coat. his gaze flicks briefly to the carcass before settling back on the stranger.
but if you want one, i’m looking. a pause. his tongue flicks over his teeth. looking for men to join me.

his jaw sets. he doesn't like this man's attempt at humor—it grates him. with a non-committal grunt, iosef turns his attention to the seal's head at his feet, less he sink his teeth into the man's flesh instead. 

"looking for men?" the brute huffs as he leans down to rip flesh from muscle and bone, tossing the seal's skin to the side. he doesn't look up. "why?" blunt, to the point. 

he wasn't interested, unless the man had a proposal. he doesn't bend the knee so easily anymore, but what good is a soldier without his general?

faust listens, but his focus is elsewhere. he moves, slow and deliberate, toward a tree standing just at the glacier’s edge. with a lift of his leg, he marks it—his claim, his warning. the scent is sharp in the cold air, a declaration of intent.
i will claim this glacier.
his voice is steady, unwavering. the words leave no room for doubt. he turns back, golden eyes narrowing as they settle on the man. there is no arrogance in his tone, just certainty.
we are hunters, he continues, his head tilting slightly as if considering whether the stranger is worth his breath. big game.
the tundra was no place for weak men. only those who could fight, who could track, who could kill, would survive under his rule. he makes no effort to explain further—if the man had sense, he would understand.

his maw wrinkles with distaste at the display, yet he says nothing. he continues tearing at the seal's skull, blood staining his maw, his eyes trained on the man. 

"why claim glacier? it's пустошь." he grumbled. out of all the homes the man could choose to start his empire, this is the decision he made? 

he isn't impressed. bitter cold, unsteady ice...it's only when the man speaks of big prey does he lift his head. 

seals were easy. he craved something bigger, craved a challenge. he hummed then, low and guttural, in thought. iosef would make an excellent hunter, but that isn't what he wished for. not necessarily. "i can be hunter, but i am a soldier."

"you will have army, yes?" he inquired.

faust shakes his head, slow and deliberate. the glacier holds more than what meets the eye. his voice is rough, edged with certainty, dismissing the notion of пустошь— a language he cannot speak.
caves, he says, lifting his chin slightly, letting the word settle. deep ones. shelter from storm, from enemy eyes. his gaze flickers, measuring. hunting fields. caribou. elk. his lip curls faintly, a ghost of a smirk. big game.
he lets the silence stretch, lets the weight of his words settle. then, with the same certainty, a bathing lake. a huff follows, almost amused at the simplicity of it, though his expression remains unreadable. water that does not freeze.
he studies the man then, gauging the interest in his stance, in the way his ears tilt to catch his words. he is like a blade, this one—honed for war, not just survival.
faust leans forward just slightly, the weight of his stare pressing. you ask if i will have an army, he muses, voice a quiet rumble. darukaal will have warriors. soldiers, hunters. a people.
he tilts his head then, slow, calculated. but you—what do you want?

"hmph." the brute grunted incredulously. perhaps the wasteland wouldn't be a terrible home, then. caves to shelter them, big game to feast upon. but truthfully, he didn't give two shits about where this man staked his claim. 

he stood then, broad and towering like a mountain, his gaze downcast. what he wanted was simple. he was born a soldier, raised as one, and would die as one. 

"to lead army. to win wars. i bring you heads of enemies, i will snuff their bloodlines." spoken with grim finality—he didn't make empty promises. with a roll of broad shoulders, he smirks. 

"you need man like me, yes?"

faust regarded the man with a steady gaze, measuring him in silence before nodding once, slow and sure.
absolutely. the word came low, final. he could see it now, an army of hardened men forged in ice and blood, carving their names into the bones of the earth. it was a vision he could follow, one he could mold himself into. war was all he had ever known, and he was a man who needed purpose.
faust, he introduced himself with a slight tilt of his head. no titles, no embellishments—just a name, one that had been carried through fire and left standing. i fight. i kill. i win.
his lips curled slightly at the edge, a smirk not of amusement, but of understanding.

fight, kill, win. he didn't need to hear anymore, for him to make his decision. with a toothy grin, iosef gave a slight, approving nod. he would not follow a weak man. but faust was not a weak man, he could tell in the assuredness. the confidence when he spoke. 

he places a paw on the seal's head, now just covered in sinew, and presses his weight down. the bone splinters as a result. "iosef," he grunts. "i will kill with you. i will fight with you. together, we will win." a promise, a pledge.

faust watched as the seal's skull cracked beneath iosef’s weight, his expression unreadable, save for the faint glint of satisfaction in his eyes. a pledge made in blood and bone—he would take it for what it was.
he grunted, stepping closer, towering like the glacier itself. his gaze raked over the other man, sizing him up, though his stance remained relaxed. he did not need to test iosef—he had already seen enough.
good. the word was simple, final.
his ears flicked against the wind as he glanced toward the frozen expanse, the endless stretch of white that would soon be theirs. we will carve our claim into this land, he rumbled, voice thick with promise. the blood talon will rise.
he turned his head back to iosef then, a rare flicker of something almost amused touching his features. let’s start with something bigger than a seal.