Ineptitude and greed were an unfortunate constancy, mixed and boiled together into a noxious, witless stew, paralyzing common sense and driving audacity into the reins of the ineffectual. Over and over again, intruders laced the same ordeal, the same idiocy, the same brazen abandon, with no results quartered or ordained. Unfamiliar scents languished into the northern territory, punctured and pierced the reticent ambitions of the Basin King, curiosity invoked into spellbound treachery. Minatory ambience amidst the weary doldrums, he stoked the fine pinnacles of potency, slashed and tore, ripped and maimed, a brutal menace on the hunt, on the prowl, keened and vibrant on the words of death and demise. The outcry of the Haruspex, perhaps he’d reveal his gratefulness towards the monocle beast at a later time, pierced through the northern sky, and he gave naught but the fiery acrimony of his pernicious schemes over to the lands: wild and untamed, behemoth and anarchist, craving annihilation and extermination upon those that threatened his land, his children, his brethren. Molten and infernal, following the hungry gallows, the thieving cloaks, the dastardly wake of nefarious arts, he commanded and sieged, scraped and brooded, brewed each hostile step of his vicious swiftness, colliding against the chilling ramparts and the wicked peaks, savage and monstrous. They would be the only predators within the Basin. He’d provide the might, the potency, the shield, the sword, the oeuvre of demise to destroy the threats labored against them; show the world time and time again their power, their will, their conviction amidst the clattering rime and beckoning hunger. As soon as the figures were spotted, wolves baying and beaconing on the horizon, longing to take what was his, the possessive slight of his frame craved endless entropy; awakened the devilish chords of his puissance. Dangerous and fuming, eager and fervent for the fray, he transpired into the vicious wake and deliberated with his feral creed; the slightest of smirks entrenched through his mouth at the opportunity to unravel, distort, conquer, and destroy. He thundered and rolled across the grounds, swept up the frost and tasted the delicious presence of sedition, hungered and ached to demolish the chosen, witless prey, the greedy fiends, the avaricious canines, and never ceased his ferocious, barbaric speed. Providing no warnings, no claims, no alarms of his advance lavished towards the dogs, with meticulous aim, with calculated machinations, a Machiavellian spread of the infernal, of the immoral, stretched from his body and out into the void: deadly promises, withering, festering muses, a Reaper’s scythe, silent and trenchant, hushed and pernicious, execution and slaughter teeming with enigmatic, satanic glee. It traced and trailed towards the wolves, spreading carnivore massacre, invoking termination, collapse, eradication and obliteration, yearning to feed upon their bones, their flesh, their lungs, their air, their hearts, intending to grasp them tightly until they all became one lifeless plunge of the inevitable. And in the distance, monitoring the borders, flanking the entrance way with its unrelenting stare, the sentinel slowly attempted to move its body towards the predators; if Zikar's warning hadn't been enough, it too raised a steady, blistering alarm.
[Death magic sent towards the wolves~ The front gate sentinel is also trying to block the wolves; sounding the alarm after Zikar. ;D]
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