Like a shadow wraith the scarred wolf walked the mountain tops at night. Red eyes glancing to and fro along the furthest side. With paws large and body larger he walked silently like death. Sleeping had been non-existent for the former slave since he had dreamed a memory and almost succumbed to the madness that dwelled within. He blamed his mother for this madness that ate at his insides like a poison. Slowly tearing away his faculties and his conscious thought, until he was certain he would be nothing more than a soul within a body incapable of speaking, or eating or sleeping, he could hunt and serve though. He could always hunt and serve. It was a disgusting merry go round of tasks that he could do.
He had been taught hunt for the queen, love the queen, kill for the queen, ravish the queen all of these things he had been taught and here they were not useful other than the hunting. There was no Queen to hunt for, or love or kill for or ravish at least not the queen he was used to anyway. No there was just the Jinx queen with her lava orange eyes and her white pelted mate Lecter (whom remarkably held the servants devotion and respect just as much as the queen.)
He stopped and stood overlooking the grounds below the mountain peaks .The voices whispering in his head of fog and mystery and death. Foggy nights and dreary days Sitri, foggy nights and dreary days. The queen doesn't like them doesn't like them He stood still and silent red eyes gleaming as he fought for control of his mind.
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It was with a haughty carelessness and predator’s precision that Ira had had been stalking the earth and blood born male whom he knew, mysteriously enough as: Sitri. The pallid Prince followed on the crags above Sitri, steps quiet and light, easier now that Ira was learning to re-control his body in the cusp of manhood, grasped by puberty. Whether the gruesome creature had noticed Ira’s stalking he had yet to draw attention to it and the Princeling kept up with it, lowering his body against the jagged rocks that had formed Silvertip, always on the precipice of it’s treacherous ledges and slippery slopes. He had studied to length of the fall many times, observing that if he were to misstep in carelessness he would plummet to his untimely death; even if it did not bring death upon impact his body would be broken beyond all repair and it would force the wolves of Slivertip — no Jinx (for Ira would not accept death at any other’s jaws) — to end it for him. Lecter’s ominous words of death had not faded from the haughty and insolent Prince’s mind and the consideration that Jinx would mourn the Shaman’s death and the wonderment of if he were to be stupid — though he exercised great caution to avoid that — and find himself in …whatever was next …if she would mourn him too. Jinx had lost too much already and Ira did not want to be a source of any pain she might feel.
He cared about her too much, even if he understood it was a mistake.
Sitri was not what Ira would have ever called handsome, his body too riddled with ugly, old scars, and he had a way about him that always had Ira on edge in the demonic creature’s presence. Jace had been quick to claim that Ira was a demon spawn (and maybe he was borne of the deadly sins) but the Nox Prince wondered what the ebony annoyance would have to say about Sitri. As it was, Jace wasn’t here (Ira was thankful for that) and Ira was left to draw conclusions without assistance, having chosen to study Sitri from afar. He had a penchant for calling Jinx a ‘demon queen’ which had upset her young son on more than one occasion and caused the pre-teen to wonder why he insulted her so. She was a Queen, yes, but there was nothing demonic about her. She was practically an Amazon Goddess and to think of her as anything less was degrading as far as Ira was concerned. His belly scraped low against the ledge that lingered close to where Sitri had decided to stop and gaze out at the vast landscapes beyond them. It was a scenic view, admittedly. He drew in a soft breath, the air always thinner the higher he had climbed and required a little more work of his lungs.
Crystalline blue eyes like ice regarded the Epsilon harshly as Ira contemplated how hostile Sitri would become if the Prince decided to break his silence — unless Sitri had been aware he had a ghost shadowing him. If he was, then Ira needed to brush up on his assassination skills a bit more. They had been a little neglected when he had been consumed with his relationship with Bones but her continued absence left the Prince with a lot of free space in his schedule that he had to fill up somehow.
It had all been for naught that the snow furred spawn followed he. He had known he was there, known all along. Reason why he was unsure, perhaps it was the simple fact that he had been trained by the queen to listen for all manners of vagabonds. Whether they were sneaks or thieves or assassins, all mantles that he himself the demon spawn had worn a time or two in name of the queen. Or perhaps it was simply because he had heightened senses and he had too, after all the man was mad. All one had to do was look into his red orbs of fire and damnation and you could tell that madness lurked there, as if it's snaking tendrils could push forth and come out of his eyes. So to sneak up on him, well another also had to be licking at the heels of madness, for they were stupid if they tried.
Sitri was not handsome anymore, he had been beaten, bruised and bedraggled for far too long during his 4 years on this cursed earth. Oh but he had been handsome once, handsome by far than most, with large rippling muscles and gentler red eyes, though now they were harsh and unforgiving his eyes were. His coat had been lush and the deepest brown, like deep dark soil in the cusp of springtime. However, the queen had seen to it, that none would want him ever again. He had belonged to the queen and no woman was allowed to touch him but she. It was odd for the slave really he had always belonged to a woman owned and manhandled. FIrst his mother and his sister in the deepest darkest pits he dwelled in filth and incest-ion. Then the Queen the demon queen she had taken him for her own.
Sitri found the view awe inspiring if he could put such words to it, though he was slow and he was not the smartest so he could not. If anyone were to ask, to him the demon queen was a compliment. He was showing her respect, it was how his former queen had been liked to be called. Though now as time wore on he found he preferred to just call his new queen nothing more or less than the Jinx Queen. He had seen the youth for awhile now and he had wondered if he was truly the queens spawn and if he was, did that mean he belonged to Lecter a man that alone of any ever men commanded his respect and he gave it willingly, being dominated largely by females throughout his life.
Sitri turned fiery red eyes to the youth that sat idly near him, reclining as if he owned the world. His haughtiness was unbecoming and he would never find a woman that way. They preferred their men less so, though Sitri would never tell him this, on the fact alone that he also demanded respect from a lesser being like Sitri, being that he was the son of the queen. Sitri knows this, he is a demon spawn, no handsomeness does this wolf bear. That alone is a curse you know to be handsome, it will bite you in the rear it always does. With that Sitri looked back towards the horizon dismissing the youth's words like water over stone. Words could not hurt the brute anymore, he had heard them all. The voices began again Stupid sitri stupid stupid, ugly sitri ugly ugly, foolish sitri foolish man. there was nothing the young male had not heard.
Ira studied Sitri idly wondering how all those nasty scars had been earned, or given whichever figuring there was a story behind each one. Not that Ira cared enough to ask. As it was, the Prince was contented just to wonder, or worse yet, make up stories of his own. He wasn’t terribly imaginative when it came to spinning tales but sometimes amused himself with it every now and then. They were never created with the intention of leaving the Prince’s lips, coveted mostly for his own cruel and sick amusement. Even as he tried to come up with something, his mind refused to play the ‘make shit up’ game and so Ira gave up with a soft huff of annoyance. Little did the Prince know that Sitri and him were something of kindred spirits; both were broken despite the polar opposites of their situations. Ira didn’t know Sitri enough to like or dislike him but he was, at least, in Ira’s ‘good book’ if only because of the apparently unwavering loyalty to Jinx that Ira had watched Sitri exhibit. That was a tentative place though and Ira searched for reasons so scratch names off of it. It took more effort to like someone than it did to dislike them.
Gazing down at Sitri, Ira watched as the other male turned to look up at him and the Prince offered the red-eyed fiend a toothy grin, letting a foreleg drape off of the ledge, swinging slightly in what was meant to be something like a lazy wave. Tail beat against the solid rock formation for a few seconds as silvered eyes gazed relentlessly into the darkened fires of Sitri’s bloodied eyes. Ira watched Sitri intently, ears thrusting forth as gaze narrowed to one of suspicion and the Prince drew his leg back until his paw found purchase on the outcrop of rock, rising so is stomach barely brushed the rock, the muscles of his broadening shoulders pulled taunt, the junction between his shoulders prominent as he stared down at the Epsilon in a predatory manner. The lack of surprise and hostility made Ira aware that Sitri had, more likely than not, known he had been there all along.
Ira could barely tolerate listening to Sitri speak but worked to regain his composure as he listened, regardless, noting on the strange way Sitri referred to himself by using his name instead of ‘I’. Ira was a Prince and he could not allow his ire to fall upon Sitri who had not earned it (and really Ira was mad at himself for falling lax). He would not punish that which was innocent. It was Sitri’s use of the word ‘curse’ that captured Ira’s full attention, his anger at himself gone in that split second and intently, with unbidden curiosity that Ira’s silvered gaze went back to the scarred creature below him. He eased into a lazy lounge once more, though it was more of a regal sphinx than haughty carelessness as it had been previous to his rise in anger.
Sitri looked down for a moment at his pelt thinking of all the scars that riddled him as he thought of the words handsome. He could almost name where everyone came from, some from the queen, some from others for her amusement, some simply from the turning of the tricks for the queen. He had known male and females alike and it was just the way of things to him. Sitri was a naturally neutral being he neither liked or disliked anyone ever as least thus far in his life. It was just how he was, the closest he had ever come to genuinely liking someone perhaps even loving them had been his father and as soon as the queen had found out, she had forced him to watch as the queen's blood mongers ripped him to shreds of course this was after she had his father train a new healer. Oh forgive the old soul who had mistakingly thought the queen was trying to help him out, when he was nearly nothing more than a nameless, faceless minion and slave like all of them but Sitri. He had gained favor but his blessing had been a curse. And his curse had killed the only wolf he ever cared for, he would not make that mistake again. He would respect and he would revere, but never love. To love something was to hurt it and betray it. How many times had the queen whispered over and over to him how much she loved him, just to watch him bleed and almost die. his mother his sister how often had they told him they loved him as they forced him to do unspeakable things to them and others in the slave pits of the queens domain. No to say I love you to Sitri would sign your death warrant.
Sitri froze as he turned back to the youth to see him looking at him with a predators gaze. He shifted his paws and turned his entire body around gracefully to stare up at the youth, and to protect himself if he must, though Sitri was unsure if he was allowed. This place was so different had he been home, the queen would have allowed her son to do whatever he pleased and Sitri could do nothing in retaliation. Would that be the same here? Quickly though the youth relaxed though he was angry with himself. Sitri chuckled again more than he had in years, the last time being when he was six months old and now he had laughed twice in as many a number of days. Do not feel bad little princeling. If it were any but Sitri they would not have known. Sitri was trained at a very young age to listen for Sneaks and thieves and assassins. The young male was the queens son therefore he was a prince to Sitri it was all there was to it really.
Sitri frowned at the wolf's words, but merely because he was unsure how to answer he could not think of the words for what he had been. the first queen happened to me princeling the first queen and all her men. I was her's and hers alone and no woman was allowed to see what she saw and she was an angry woman. That was how he left it, the majority of flaws that criss crossed his pelt and his face and his eyes were borne from the queen and at the queen's command. Countless years and faces blurring together to make one large mass of scars and abrasions.
In an unusual form for Ira he had not sought to insult Sitri any further than calling him an ‘ungodly’ sight. For a second, the Princeling reflected up the lack of the urge to be rude to Sitri. It was a rare thing for Ira not to feel because in any sort of normal circumstances he was always crude and insolent and insulting. Half the time it was so instinctual that Ira was not even, consciously, aware that he was doing it; and if he was it was purely intentional. There was something decidedly off putting about a creature who insulted himself &mdash which Sitri had done — and had more or less sucked all the fun out of it by agreeing with Ira on the matter. It was fun to the insolent Prince if only because insults tended to get rises out of others with surprising ease. The sound of Sitri’s chuckle brought Ira out of his thoughts and the Juvenile’s silver eyes narrowed to near slits (if he was a cat they would have been but alas he did not share in that genetic quirk with felines) assuming that Sitri was laughing at Ira’s failure. A low rumble of warning, despite that by all accounts Sitri was of a much higher rank than Ira who had not even cleared it into the adult ranks yet, bubbled into Ira’s chest. It cut off quickly when Sitri spoke …something of a compliment, Ira supposed.
Sitri began to explain though Ira struggled to make much sense of the other male’s words. Of course, he had no idea who “the first queen” was and that left him with a gaping hole of information. The more Sitri spoke, however, the more Ira could piece together something of a vague puzzle of what had happened to Sitri.
Sitri looked at the Princeling with a strange look when he growled at him. However, sitri did not growl back. There was no point to growling at another unless you meant to hurt them or defend yourself. It was a useless sound, and when you entire existence rode on being silent and staying hidden well you learned to adapt. After all how many times had Sitri managed to get out of being a proverbial punching bag so to speak (though wolves don't punch) just by being silent and hidden in the corner of the area.
Sitri smiled then a strange smile, one that seemed unusual for the scarred warriors face. It lit up some of the unmarred part of his face, where you could see he had been handsome once. Sitri looks forward to the day Princeling and when you do I will gladly congratulate you. Sitri was all for his fellow pack mates gaining accomplishments. Just because he was stupid dumb, and he may never accomplish anything did not mean he wouldn't be glad for others. Though it was a strange game this earning of trades and accomplishments and one that Sitri had yet to unwravel.
Sitri listened to the boy and then frowned that wasn't exactly what it had all been. So he shook his scarred head. Sitri was only partly that for the queen, he wore many other pelts for her. Sitri has been a thief and a kidnapper. He has been a consort, but above all else Sitri was a slave, a servant, a cretin, low even beneath the queen, though Sitri was her favorite. Sitri did what she said and often the queen wanted nothing more to abuse and use. he tilted his head so the moonlight showed on his ears the tatters and tears, One notch for every life I took in the name of the Queen. he turned then and showed the notches in the base of his tail some crossing over others One notch for every child I stole in the name of the queen. Turning once more to show his right front leg and all the scars that riddled it One notch for every female or male that used Sitri for their own pleasure. He shifted again the other scars glittering in the moonlight, all for different reasons other than said above. All the notches made from, teeth or claws.
Sitri felt as if his blood had frozen when the young princeling spoke of the demon queen and a feral growl and snarl came up forth from his maw. It was purely instinctual he could not help it, but it was there all the same. It was deep and low and loud and it made the fur on the nape of most's neck stand on end. Suddenly he realized where he was and bending down he started rubbing his paws over his muzzle scolding himself, No Sitri no not her queen anymore not loyal anymore. He shook his head and turning tortured red eyes to the youth he spoke Sitri is sorry princeling it was instincts that drove me to growl at you. Sitri was also the queens protector of both name and face. If the youth chose to jump at him at this moment the poor male would probably just lay down and take it.
The rumble of displeasure in the Prince’s chest had been borne of his misunderstanding of Sitri’s chuckle and had been far from anything personal. If there was one thing that Ira couldn’t stand it was being laughed at. It left him with a bruised ego, festering in personal humiliation, and angry above all else. Ira did not like the burning of anger as it rushed like fire along a trail of gasoline in his veins. It made him feel utterly out of control of his body and he hatred and feared it in equality. A smile — or at least Ira assumed it was supposed to be a smile — tugged at Sitri’s lips distorting his face making him look …well creepy. To the point where Ira really wanted to tell Sitri to never smile. Ever.
Apparently, Ira’s assumption had been wrong and the insolent Princeling scowled darkly down at Sitri even as the male explained and corrected him.
The fur along Ira’s nape and spine bristled when Sitri let out a savage snarl and growl pointedly directed at him and the Prince retaliated with a snarl of his own, exposing his sharpened teeth, jumping to his paws quickly, leaping down from his perch, where he attempted to force Sitri into submission, ivory ears pinned down to his skull as he aimed to grasp the Epsilon’s snout in his jaws to reprimand him even though by all accounts Sitri held the rank over Ira. Princeling was something Jinx called Ira out of affection — it was not an actual title despite how Ira twisted it to be. Breathing heavy Ira back up from Sitri then though he still held himself in a dominate posture watching Sitri. It was a piteous sight but Ira was not ready to admit that he no longer held an interest in dominating him out of guilt alone. He apologized and babbled some more crap about his previous queen.
Sitri listened though he said nary a word. He didn't know if the boy would ever win that bet. If he would go against himself and be able to stalk the queen's whipping boy. He hoped he would be, but Sitri himself had a feeling he would have to be going blind and deaf to be able to do that, because it was just really a matter of life for him. Which in retrospect wasn't all that far off he was 4 years old. Not old but not young anymore either.
Sitri laid his ears back, if the wolf could feel shame for his actions this would be one of those times. He had always hated taking the children, but he had refused to allow himself to think about it. It simply was not done to go against the queen if she didn't kill you her blood mongers would and if they didn't kill you well you were thrown to the prisoners and they tore you up and ate you while you were still alive those that were leaving deep deep in the pits of the abyss. yes Sitri stole children and yes some she ate, some became consorts, some she killed, some slaves, a select few became her own personal blood fueled army. Sitri's lips twitched, but this was not a smile of mirth, no it was a smile of malice and bitter sweet and he spoke quietly You think Sitri could when the queen ruled the land like a demon. If Sitri had tried 1 of 3 things would have happened. Sitri would have been given to her blood mongers to do with as they please and then finally if Sitri was lucky enough to get the sweet relief of death it would happen. Sitri could be killed by the queen who herself was not a small wolf. Or finally she would throw Sitri to the starving prisoners who were so consumed with their hunger they would rip Sitri apart and eat him as he lay fighting bits and pieces here an there.
Sitri in truth was no novice on the battlefield and if allowed he could tear apart a wolf in seconds. However, the queen had kept him on a very tight rein and he did not kill without first being told.
Something happened inside Sitri when the Youth jumped at him. Something snapped when he realized he did not have to take this anymore. The queen was not there with her claws and teeth. No she wasn't and here in this land he was higher ranked than the youth though he was still the queens son. However Sitri did nothing this time, though next time he would. He realized finally and fully that he was tired of being the slave boy, the abused boy and he would make sure everyone damn well knew it or he hoped he would it was still a large distance away for the man to completely forgo his mind set.
Ira couldn’t understand why Sitri had done what he had, why he had taken the abuse but then again though they were something of kindred spirits their situations were on opposite scales of one another. Both had known horrible things but Sitri’s life had been utter shit until he had broken free whereas Jinx had been the best thing to ever happen to Ira. It wasn’t easy for Ira to forget the massacre he had watched from the deep shadows, the rancid and putrid scent of blood and open bodies and then, later, the sweet scent of decay that hung like a veil over the Red Keep. He had been extremely young when Tark had scooped him up elderly and covered in blood as he had been and had carried him to the Teekon Wilds, but Ira could not forget those images no matter how many times he had attempted to burn them from his brain. They were always there in some closely guarded, abysmal corner of Ira’s brain. Sitri had been a slave and Ira would rather die then become anyone’s bitch. Was life preservation really so important that it justified doing horrible things to innocents? Ira’s moral compass was a broken thing, yes, but he believed feverishly in justice and protection of the innocent. It was, perhaps, one of the few good things that proved he had something of a heart even if it was black with rot (maybe like his soul).
For a brief moment horror showed on the Prince’s face before he carefully composed it back to a haughty mask. He had been joking when he had said about her eating children and there Sitri was confirming it. If Sitri had felt any shame for it, it had been lost on Ira who was torn between feeling disgust for Sitri and some kind of twisted fondness.
Ira did not dominate Sitri with the intention of making him a slave, or abusing him. He dominated him because he was the Prince and Ira didn’t like being treated like the child he still was; because he would defend Jinx for his life and if anyone was wavering on their loyalty to her he would kill them. And not with his teeth and claws, oh no. He would use his poisons, subtle, deadly and silent. Sitri, had seemed to forget who he owed his loyalty too and it was that, more than anything else, that had caused the Prince to lung and dominate.
Sitri looked at him he did not know the word justify. did not know what it meant. Sitri is sorry Ira, but he does not understand what you mean by Justify, what is this word? Sitri did what he did, because it was all he knew. He was born into this Princeling born to the red eyed one and the slave. Sitri was born a slave. I knew nothing else. Perhaps if he had been taught the difference between things or what a moral conscience was he would not have done those things. However, the queen had made sure to keep the brute stupid and child like so she could use him for her every whim. As he was learning things here and now he was realizing that he would have preferred not to do any of those things and he may have been able to save one, but he would have died too and then what could he have done, but be dead. The most he had been able to do was give some of the innocents a quick death, he did not draw it out like so many others, and he had brought them extra food when he could, taught them how to be good slaves quiet slaves. If they were quiet and good and stayed in the shadows they would not bear the wounds. He had taken the blame for things he had not done to save another from becoming a chew toy, but he did not see those as good things. He had just done them there was no rhyme or reason to it and he did not think it made him good or respectful or anything it just spared the youths from suffering the scars he bore.
Sitri did not argue about the loyalty as he was conditioned to keep his mouth shut. Though for a moment he wished he could overcome that certain flaw of his. Sitri met Jinx after entire pack was killed but sitri. He wasn't sure what had killed them all, just that when he came back from tracking and hunting they were all dead. He had only been gone for 2 days.
Ira had always fantasized himself as some kind of …not hero — not per say because he had long accepted the fact that he had too many unbecoming qualities to be a “hero” — as some tormented fallen angel or something that had some of the virtues still within him battling with the deadly sins that threatened to consume him and take absolute control. In his head the story he weaved was very dramatic and captivating and he, as it’s protagonist always got the girl. Story telling aside he had told Jinx once that he would stand and protect the weak, the young, the innocent, no matter how macabre or twisted he became. No matter how selfish, proud, or haughty. Ira, since he had realized his own curse had always believed it was better to be feared than loved because to love was to destroy, and to be loved was to be destroyed. It had been a hard lesson to learn and there had been only two exceptions he had allowed himself. Jinx and Bones, but the latter hadn’t been around in quite some time. It was easy to assume that, like all the rest, she had been effected by his curse, too; easy to let the curse take the heavy burden of accusation but …Ira didn’t know, and intended, with Jinx’s permission to make the trip to Swiftcurrent Creek in the hopes of salvaging whatever was left of his relationship if Bones was even interested anymore.
Sitri explained to Ira that he did not know what the word ‘justify’ meant and Ira sucked in a soft, thoughtful breath and let it out.
Ira snorted softly when Sitri complied and told Ira how he had met Jinx. Ironic because it was extremely similar to how Ira himself had came to know Jinx Kesuk.
Sitri listened to the question and it momentarily struck him dumb. Had he felt bad for doing those terrible things, knowing what was coming. He had pitied them yes, felt bad for them well he supposed, but he was a selfish being and he had also been glad that she would have a new toy a new claim and he could have a reprieve. Did that make him terrible, probably after all he was no saint and most thought him a demon and he knew this and some days he thought so himself. He found he had been more lucid during this conversation than some time. He looked at Ira and frowned and spoke quietly Sitri does not know. Sitri pitied them yes, felt bad for them, some Sitri taught so they could earn favor and not lose it. To keep the queens favor well that made or broke you in the pack. But Sitri was also glad in a way that she would have knew toys to play with and she would let Sitri be. Sitri did not like his existence though it was all he knew. Few times Sitri just wanted to die, but she would never let him. never let him. He shook his head and the voices in his head took up the chant sadly and forlorn Never let him die, never let him die. Sitri die but no never let him. he ran a paw over his face to try and drown out the voices that whispered there.
Sitri nodded in response to the next question. This was the only pack near them. Sitri had to travel for days and days and days to get here, many more days than were in a year. The queen had other packs outside of her own that she controlled, though Sitri does not know how and Sitri never asked. yes it was all I knew and all my father knew and my mother and my sister. So yes Sitri never thought there was more until he met queen Jinx.
Sitri frowned that was a sad story and if he could find it somewhere deep inside himself he could feel bad and brotherly to the youth that stood before him. However, Sitri was afraid to begin to care signed the others death and he did not wish Ira to die, because Sitri cared for him in some way whether itwas friends, brothers, pack mates. However, he did speak Sitri is sorry you had to see that. Too much blood can make you sick, head sick, heart sick. Sitri knows this well. It makes you dark, demonic sometimes. Sitri is sorry princeling Ira.
Ira let out a puff of breath that resembled something akin to a sigh that had not quite made it to that as he listened to Sitri explain that he didn’t know Ira assumed how he justified it to himself. Because you didn’t justify it to yourself, Sitri, Ira thought bitterly in his head. You’re a mindless killer and an accomplice to boot. Suddenly, Ira wondered, if given this, Sitri was safe to be around. He had spent so many years enduring shit and doing equally as bad shit as the things that had happened to him. What if he snapped one day?
It was kind of really pathetic and ...sad Ira realized.
Sitri said no more words just dipped his head in a silent goodbye and turning back towards the open space of the mountain. He looked down not even bothering to turn around to watch Ira go. Perhaps he was a strange individual, maybe he was twisted and sick, but he was an individual regardless and simple things pleased him like the view.
OOC: yes we must :)