Ankyra Sound long and weary my road has been

@Eurycrates

a stormy, brooding quiet had taken the sound, with the wind galloping off to some fathomless corner of the world and the sun momentarily eclipsed by heavy cloud. along the water a ripple rose in the cascading waves, followed by the sharp arch of a black fin which moved with speed and purpose. 

she knew quite well the immense power of the leviathan that lurked under the waves; the other wolf of the world - a wolf she had seen many times sunder seals six times her size. 

she would not swim today — not with such a dark omen present — and with care kept to the tidal flat where the black faced hunter had no reign.

the water seemed as though it was taking to the shore with such aggression that the boy feared it would swallow all of them whole. from a distance, his eyes followed the crashing waves and the dark skies – the reaper of their world. after having spent so much of his life away from the sea, to have returned was an intimidating achievement. it left the boy with feelings of inadequacy when compared to how well he had flourished on the plateau. for a moment, he thought of kavik and liri and wondered if they resented him for leaving.

the image of his mother crossed his sights, closer to the shore than he was, and he watched her for a moment before making a decision to approach. she was a stranger to him with the face of a loved one. illidan was not certain how he would mend such tears. though she had accepted him back, he wondered if she had also severed her emotional bond with him after he had disappeared, or if he had been the only one to break his blood ties.

---

Eurycrates has never been one to follow directions. The commander's warning is like a summer fly--bothersome, but not something to flee from. Something to squish, to stamp out. It is something that has perhaps worked for her before, but it will not work on Eurycrates. Whatever forces molded her molded him, too, and did so better. He deserves the sound, and he will have it.
And it seems that she is not as omnipotent as the boy portrayed her, for there are others, here, without the scent of the cliffs on their pelt. Mirrors of each other, dark-hooded and fearsome, though one--the woman--was tiny. Intrigued, he pads their way, chin lifted in imperious query.
You stand on claimed ground, you know, he says, voice dripping with acerbic sarcasm. There is no real humor in his voice, only a darker kind of petulance. He is unaccustomed to not getting what he wants; he will take it, one way or the other. Perhaps this matching pair can be of some assistance. Have the wolves on the cliffs not come to harass you?

---

as the siren clawed through a band of kelp she saw illidan approach — silently, she motioned to the finned presence that lurked in the water, as if to impart her own maternal wisdom against testing the beast’s cunning or hunting ability. 

she might have elaborated further, except another shape hulled towards them. standing to her full height (a not very impressive one) the matriarch’s ears tilted forwards, studying the boldly postured specimen with polite interest. 

even a halfwit could have detected the sarcasm that dripped from the mogul’s words, and caiaphas allowed a small smile as she peered at the cliffs that loomed behind them. though he was a stranger, she could guess the subject of his sardonic words even before he mentioned the wolves inhabiting the scaffolding stones above. 

them? the old crone cast a querulous glance again in the cliff’s direction, a scoff hanging derisively from her lips. pah. big babies on a big cliff. they tell you that, you laugh and go on your merry way. been here, give or take, since before most of them were whelped. don’t see any claim on it, do you?

the banter was quick to unfold between the stranger and caiaphas. for a fleeting moment, the young man imagined that they already knew each other to be speaking with such crude humor. it wouldn't have made much sense to him that they should be strangers and approaching one another with such familiarity. as they talked, his sharp gaze roamed from where they stood to the cliffs that stood over the territory. a piece of him wondered if the wolves up there were capable of seeing so far down to where they were.

the thought was quickly cast from his mind. the wolves on the cliffs weren't gods – not even close – and they would not have been able to see the goings on in the sound from where they were. all the while, he did not say anything to contribute to the conversation that took place between his mother and the stranger. he imagined that he would not have had anything of value to offer. instead, he pulled his sights from the cliffs and returned them to the other wolf with a flash of interest.

---

He's not a smiler, not really. What comes closest is something more like a grimace. He gives her his best approximation, amused by the jest. Then her question brings his face to solemnity once more, and he turns toward the waves, the wind rippling through the thick pelt at his neck. I claim it, Eurycrates says firmly, gaze fixed on the horizon. It is mine.
The gilded orbs cut, sharp, to the woman, focusing on her words, now. Yours? he asks rhetorically, then he slides his eyes over to the large young man, staring him down. His? The titan lets out an impatient snort, not sure how to feel in the moment. Conquest is so difficult, a forked road--ally or die. He doesn't particularly want to do either.
You speak of them with such scorn, he says, admiring her barbs. I like it. Will you help me kill them? He blinks slowly, infinitesimally, his face like stone. We can take the cliffs, too. The whole shore, if the numbers are in our favor.
The wheels of his mind are spinning madly.

---

caiaphas: oooo i like how u think
me: omg no what are u doing

illidan was silent, though the siren caught his guarded gaze to the cliffs above; as if they could hear the denizens below them. perhaps if the wind favored it just so, they could -- but the crone was past discretion, past caring. 

the male was incensed in a way that delighted caiaphas. her gaze climbed his roiling features, noticing the storminess that lingered beyond his sharp eyes. she knew that ambition well, though conquest had never been kind to her -- it moved in the burdensome way of a stone wheel - bringing those low to high heights, and then cyclically trampling them under the freshly minted feet of their new power.

"i am never averse to killing," she replied, no sign of trepidation in her voice. "but we must be smart. i have never known them to travel alone; and i have lived alongside them before. what is your name, comrade?"

there was an awful lot of talking for the young man to really pay attention to what was being said. he was able to note when the stranger made motion toward him, but he only furrowed his brow and breathed a heavy breath through flared nostrils. it was then that his mother seemed to take a good position. the young doppelganger turned his attention to her with a sharp look, but his expression did not change from its stoic shape.

caiaphas spoke of 'we', and the boy found that confusing. she mentioned that she did not have an issue with killing, to which the whiskers along his muzzle twitched. then, she made a comment about their neighbors and the behaviors that she had noted in her time. this was something that the young savage thought to be interesting. he turned his gaze back toward the cliffs with a frown. he wondered what it took to exist the way that they did, or if they were simply behaving as shrewdly as the rest of the world believed rusalka to. one way or another, the dark-hooded young man knew that he would not have been caught dead in their ranks.

---

Smart has never been a word to describe Eurycrates. No, perhaps that's unfair--he is intelligent, but impatient, along with it. His hot-headed impulsiveness had gotten in the way of his brain more than once. Still, he absorbs her words with a nod; he knows he cannot take on the cliff wolves himself, no matter how much he wants to. He needs her. He needs both of them.
Eurycrates Lycurgus of. . . He trails off, gaze drifting around the sound in an almost aimless fashion. Well, what do you call this place? he asks, staring back at the pair. What do you call yourselves?
Lacedaemon is no longer his home; it never will be again. It feels more than wrong to attach it to his name, now. The sound is where he belongs, and the sound is where he will stay. Little by little, he begins to craft his new identity. A new life, a better life.

---

in that moment caiaphas is reminded of Vlad — not so much in mein, but in the impulsive way the man seemed to grapple life, his eyes never ceasing from flitting from place to place. briefly the sylph followed his gaze, though her own vision ended on the stoic helm of her son. 

he had held his tongue - she wondered then just what occupied his mind.

it intrigued the siren to hear a name — a greek name no less — shared between them. any relation she might have suspected he had with the illfated nereides was snuffed at the mention of a surname. as he inquired to the name of the sound caiaphas wondered just how many iterations, names, and transformations Ankyra had housed - and how futile it seemed now when no evidence of prior legions persisted. this is ankyra sound, the woods behind us, monolith forest. and the band here is rusalka. i am caiaphas, and this is my son, illidan.

the boy's mind was a maze, and he rarely allowed for his thoughts to find a way out. it was best for everyone involved if he held his tongue with a clenched jaw and a steely gaze. the name that was offered by the stranger had a peculiar sound to it. the wildling rolled the sound of it through his mind several times before he twisted a single ear atop his head to listen to his mother. she offered the names of their surroundings with ease – as though she had been doing it her entire life.

then, she introduced herself and offered the boy's name with her own. illidan dipped the end of his muzzle downward in a stiff nod. he drew a salmon-colored tongue along the dark hairs of his muzzle. with formalities out of their way, he wondered if they would continue to talk about the wolves on the cliff. surely, his mother had to have been crafting a plan against them. they had caused a great deal of misery for them, after all. while illidan had not had to endure the hardship himself, he felt associated by mere word-of-mouth. if they had caused pain for those who were pledging themselves to his mother, then they would need to be dealt with.

---

He keeps the names in mind, setting his gaze on the young man nearby. Strong boy, he compliments gruffly, giving him a nod, then turns to Caiaphas. Well done. Illidan is the type of wolf that would have been praised upon birth. God knows Eurycrates was that way, too.
Well, then, I am Eurycrates of Ankyra Sound, the titan continues, the barest of smiles curving his mouth. It was settled, then. The dark-headed woman and her son were his ticket into the place.
Little did he know just how brief his time here would be.
But that was a story for another day.

---

eurycrates of ankyra sound had a powerful ring to it. caiaphas shared a quiet glance with her son, wondering if he too felt a flush of pride to hear the words "strong" used to describe him. caiaphas hid her affections well, but knew the male to be right -- illidan was growing (and had been growing) to become something mighty. she would of course claim it was entirely in his nature (for she saw so much of kierkegaard in him), but in some way, perhaps being raised by the plateau had given him a more stable edge than she could provide for him.

exchanges and pleasantries out of the way, caiaphas detailed in brief their time here to eurycrates - and then she and illidan turned for the grotto to restock their dwindling cache.