What manner of luck was this? He must have done something right for once, because lately his Lady had been smiling on him with teeth bared, clearly approving on his actions. Why else would an intended target walk right into the maw of their trap, without being tricked or lured? It was Morir that first noticed that something was up, his sharp hearing catching the sound of wind rushing over wings where he stood amidst his comrades (or well.. it would be a stretch to call Tyradon a comrade, he was more of a necessary evil). The skull-masked head lifted in a sudden fluid motion and without regard for rank or courtesy he hushed at the others to be quiet. A tense second passed, then another... and then, just as he was about to relax and push the sound away as a trick of the mist, a clack of hoof against rock set the obsidian hellion springing to action.

"Sheba, two are heading this way, one grounded and one in the air. Try separating them, catch the critter if you can. Veil, go around and cut off the escape route. Tyradon, the other direction - if it pleases you." The orders were hushed and quick, delivered rapidly in clear assumption that they would be followed. It was his first task as head of his rank, but not even for a second did he think that the others would dare to contest his position. Rank was everything in the Regime - without it, how would you keep a pack of power-hungry wolves in check?

Without waiting for confirmation Morir slipped away from the others and headed out into the mist, transforming himself into naught but a tall, looming shadow amidst the clammy fog. He began walking in the general direction of the target, guided by whatever faint sounds the approaching was creating. The muffled sound of a voice drifted towards him through the air, apparently conversing aloud with whomever it was that swished about through the air. The stag couldn't be sure what exactly it was, but considering the sound of wing-beats, the speed of its turns and the general sensation of lightness - he had to assume that it was not another horse. A companion then? They sure were abundant in this place, but the allure was quite lost on him - he had never liked rodents and carnivores were nothing but a pest.

"Hello?" he called out, deliberately turning the deep baritone meek and trembling, feeble as though belonging to someone lost and forlorn. "Who goes there? Reveal yourself... Hello?" Hopefully it would be enough to keep the approacher fixed on himself, oblivious to the predators that roamed the vicinity. How long would it take them to get in position? He tried to count the moments and make an estimate, heart suddenly throbbing in the chest from the rush of adrenaline. Ah, so exciting! No wonder wolves enjoyed their hunt, if this was the feeling of stalking a prey. Slowly the swarthy heathen meandered closer, purposely scraping the hooves along the ground to create as much of a racket as possible.

If this didn't succeed it wouldn't be on him, that much he would make sure.

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"