Hideaway Strath lust

pharaoh had gone outside the borders, found the coyote women of which he was so fond, and spent two nights in their exhausting, ribald company.
when he returned it was to bathe and to sleep, as was his right as specialist, not underling. his paws would not remember work again if he did not choose to do it.
by and by he sauntered out into the afternoon, blinding in his robes of gold-draped alabaster. he sought @Kynareth Deagon's trail, trotting along it in hopes of learning the surely dark history when it came to this strath.

It had been a fair day so far, tending to his wild pups and a beautiful Simmik. Then off to go mark the borders, something he has been admittedly lacking on due to his pups. Though, he’s sure he has enough pee in him to last halfway around this place, so he’s not worried.

On his trail along the northeastern side of the Strath, he hears someone approaching him from behind. His ears flick back and he tilts his head to the side just enough to see out of his peripherals. Luckily, it’s someone he knows. The oh so handsome Ramesses has come to find him today it seems. It brings him joy to find his pack makes still searching for his company, no matter the reason. 

So he fully turns and moves to a lazy stop. Instantly a smile is plastered in his handsome face, as usual, and he tilts his chin up to greet him casually.

“Ramesses.” He hums easily. “How are you, dear? Need something?” The words are so conversational, the pet name so casual as well. It’s obvious he’s happy to see him at the small wave of a curled tail at the base of his spine. He awaits the others smooth voice to greet his ears.

"divine one," the scribe-aspirant murmured, head bowing once, and perhaps not so low as when he had been underling. he was greeted with the usual sweet word and attentive eye of the large man, and this time ramesses relaxed, leaning into it despite his royal rigidity.
his steps light, he sauntered to the grandmaster's side.
"i have come to be your scribe," and this time an answering smile lit his own countenance.
"will you tell me the history of this place? leave nothing out," ramesses urged, settling himself to follow kynareth upon his errands or reside here, for however long it took to know the telling.

Gonna try and split the stories up so you can get your trade/rank posts in!

Divine one. He likes the title, makes him feel like a god or something. Although, his ego is horribly large, he knows he’s nothing such. In the supernatural sense of the word anyway. 

Anyway, Kyn is excited to see the other male becoming more comfortable around him. Watching him easily as he sidles closer, sweet voice overtaking the Grandmaster’s ears, he listens. Smile widening when he mentions becoming his Scribe. It’s about time the Saints had such a thing. He doesn’t stop there, the pale man laced in gold requests the great stories of the Saints. Oh, he’d be too happy to share.

So he chuckles at all the fond memories and nods his head in the other direction. “Walk with me.” He orders softly as he begins moving at a languid pace. 

“Hmm. Where to start.” He muses, licking eyes on the horizon with a smile. “I suppose the beginning.” He chuckles and carries on with a bit more seriousness in his voice. “My old pack, still known as the Saints, got found out by two legs — humans — they killed all of us. Myself and a few others were left, but I know not what happened to them. That lead me here. I started from scratch and built my pack anew.” Then he quirks his brow as he looks over to him with a devious smirk. “Made a few quick enemies too. Yuèlóng and a few of their allies.” 

sounds good to me! ty!

pharaoh felt himself begin to bristle at the order, but tapped down the sensation and followed smartly beside kynareth. Amun spoke: a scribe grew to know the secrets of one's order only through the humble ear. and so ramesses would provide this.
he had come from the first saints to found a second. he knew nothing of these two-legs mentioned by the grandmaster, and so did not comment upon them. strange gods and beasts existed in this world; he accepted this as a pantheist.
"how did you make such enemies, divine one?" pharaoh asked dryly, but the lapis gaze glimmered with a tease he passed sidelong to kynareth. the saints were savage with the willingness to be cruel. warlords, each of them, from what he had seen. 
it was not unclear how they had gained ire from those already existent in the land.

How did you make such enemies, divine one?

Kyn chuckles at that and shrugs carelessly. “It’s easy.” He hums. “When packs that are too close minded get bad vibes when they meet someone new, they automatically decide that they don’t like them.” 

Then a devilish grin curls his lips upwards and he laughs again. “With Yuèlóng it was because I almost killed —“ A soft pause as he tries to remember the agouti male’s name. “Aiolos. Couldn’t mind his own business, so he got the teeth.” The Grandmaster hums as if it didn’t matter to him one bit. “Too bad I didn’t go through with it.” 

close-minded. an attempted murder. pharaoh tried to fix aiolos' face in his mind. he had not seemed a man tuned toward bloodshed, but kynareth — he was inspirational, and not only in ways of songs or of lore. "i do not question my gods. but i am intrigued that i was led here from the prophet, to whom i went after yuelong."
"you would kill their leader?" the scribe-aspirant asked softly, though his voice held no judgement. only the detail-seeking of one who meant to record the annals of time.
"would you have taken their wolves, or only blood, divine one?" was his next inquiry, pale paws carrying him alongside the grandmaster as he followed the larger's lead.

Kynareth’s grin never escapes his wretched face. Always seeming to make it home there, stretching dark lips with malice and pride all at once. He’s a devious being, but also an understanding one. A merciless warlord, but one that has been known to occasionally spare. 

Ramesses speaks to him of his gods, mentions Yuèlóng and what could’ve been the death of their leader — their pack. Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes, he would’ve ripped her throat out just for fun. Just to see everyone’s reactions, just to traumatize her children or lovers. Same with Aiolos too; all of them. But he didn’t and he can’t yet, probably won’t if he’s being completely honest.

So he laughs. A rolling bout of boisterous laughter gala from his lips. “I don’t question it either, darling.” He hums back to him. “All I know, is that I would’ve killed them all in cold blood just for shits and gigs.” He chuckles. “All of them.” He emphasizes tersely, deeply, seriously, before his smile reappears. 

He calms himself and shrugs once more. “That’s how the old Saints used to operate. We’d raid, kill, and take. Then start all over again on another poor pack.” A flick of his eyes to Ramesses. “War is what we lived for.”

war. pharaoh thought of seti's armies, but more than that, the fighters he had hired to engage those who would not fall to his glory. "my father, he chose a clan of mercenaries to guard our gates. he called them the Talons of Horus. they answered only to one another, and were fearsome in battle."
trading tale for tale, and in it, renewing himself, and the anger that still burned around the memory of hatshepsuun's coup. but he was not yet ready to speak of that, and did not think it would ever be so. outsmarted by a woman, a sister second to her cunning feminine ways.
ramesses filled the pause with another inquiry. "have you done that here, divine one?" voice polite, seeking — a scribe adding more words to the letter of the grandmaster's voice.

My father,

Kyn’s ears perk up. He hasn’t heard much of Ramesses past and he finds himself listening much too eagerly. Short auds flicking in his direction, Kyn watches him with captivated interest as he speaks of his own past.

“The Talons of Horus.” He parrots back. “Sounds deadly.” He says with a smirk, but he’s not making fun, he’s serious. He likes the ring to it. “They were powerful I bet.” He guesses. Ramesses seems too privileged to not have an army that could really do damage. 

Only, Ramesses wonders more of the Saints quickly after. Kynareth sighs in disappointment, but there is a maddened gleam in those golden orbs of his. “No, but hopefully we will have victory soon.” He ends with promise swirling in the coingold depths of his eyes.

pharaoh gave a nod. the Talons of Horus had wreaked more havoc upon lesser settlements than egypt could claim the honor for; they had been especially barbaric in ways that weakened the queen's stomach upon hearing of such things.
madness, not to have done the same here. was the strath a constraint to kynareth, then? how could it not be, with so many young and more to arrive? it was not the home of a warrior, but a father, yet pharaoh knew no bloodthirst could be sated with domesticity.
"glory be to your gods," was all he said in answer, thinking inside his own skull.

Kyn’s ears shift in the other man’s direction. A smile comes to his lips at what he hears. 

“And to yours.” He offers back mischievously. 

Kyn closes into him, taking a single step closer, crowding him silently. It’s time for goodbyes, so the brindle eyes him down with a clear invitation in his golden orbs. 

“Have to check on my pups, but please, come find me again, darling.” He purrs back. Moving around the smaller to brush against his hip before moving in the opposite direction. A silent look back to him riddled in mischief — promiscuous. Come find me again.

<3

ramesses gave a dip of his fine head in response, but did not linger as kynareth sauntered away.
a man of many appetites. pharaoh was not inclined to be one of them; he held a harem, not been part of one. moreover, despite him knowing himself beautiful, ramesses did not see the same in other men. 
his eye, eternally, for the riotous tongue of women;
and soon, the pretty coyote-blood who resided within the saints.