A Shot to Remember[Joining]

[Prism]

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[atrb=background,http://i278.photobucket.com/albums/kk107/puddinxpiexB/middle.png] Xenios had never quite been the one to want to be in a pack, nonetheless a well know, large one. In fact he tried to avoid it most of the time. But as he had been treading through Traum, lazily sauntering to this popular shore, his mind began to turn. He could have a semblance of protection and title, everybody could use that. And he he pondered on the thoughts of the order and their ranks it seemed to get better with each step he took. He hummed as he went, ignoring the chaos knocking about in his skull. This was as close as Xenios could get to relaxed, and it never bothered him. His tail swung lazily, and his large paws make soft footsteps. He was a night creature, created for silence, for assassination. During the day, though, he was a calm beast. He found himself at ease with just walking. It had been one of his good days, where he resolved his past deeds and washed his chest clean of the blood that once stained it. Being clan made him feel refreshed, like he could conquer. It was just fuel to kill again, even if it took a few days. The huge wolf continued his lazy saunter, cursing the chirping birds above him, singing happily, their notes raining down upon his head. The bore through his skull, and for a moment Xenios's vision darkened, the images in front of his blurring into one void of darkness. His steps slowed, hesitant to continue forward. "God Damn..." He head his voice snarl, deep but with a coating softness to it to sooth the harsh edge. His legs crossed in front of him, and the wolf had to halt to a complete stop, almost crashing before he regained his normal vision and, shaking his head with a grunt, continued his pace with ease. Those damned black outs were becoming shorter for him, but seemingly more frequent. 'It's all in your head.' He scolded himself, feeling his hackles fall into a calmed position once more. A good few minutes had passed before the smell of death began to linger above the male's snout, becoming more prominent with his quickened pace. His eyes widened with adrenaline, the familiar excitement that he had known for so long. He probably would have started drooling had it not been for the stale smell that came with the metallic blood and rot scent. These bodies were long gone, passed a while ago. There weren't even bodies left, only their cleaned skeletal structures. Blood stained the sand in artistic designs. But Xenios wasn't fond of the blood that came out of the wolf. A part of him actually detested the foul liquid, and he had to wonder why he wore it so long like a crude trophy. Xenios stood at the shore, embracing the blood soaked sand and the wall of scents that stood at the Outskirts of the Order. His mind did wander on how he would be embraced into the land, or whether he would even be invited in at all. His muscles twitched with anticipation, and he struggled with the smell fear of making a fool of himself in front of whoever greeted him at the borders. Words; 545. Meh D;

[Makarov]

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[atrb=background,http://i899.photobucket.com/albums/ac192/fireb4ashes/DragoxZurian---MIDDLE.png] He moved with ease through the harsher weather, relishing in the bitter chill and whipping sting of the cold air against his face. Oh how it reminded him of his Motherland, beautiful Russia. It's unforgiving winters had bred a strong and resiliant people, full of hopes and aspirations and dreams. They bred the best politicians, the best generals, the best wolves in all of the land. Such was why Kirill, as soft and simple as Dragunov viewed him to be, was also his most potent and vengeful enemy. True to his breed he was filled with the thirst for revenge in honor of the family that had been so disgraced by the paws of the ivory warlord. From afar he brooded and calculated, he built himself up in ways that Drago could only dream of. But the white behemoth refused to turn his face in fear. The numbers and strength and the will of his own passionate peoples, loyalists who had built themselves up around him like an iron curtain, a machine of incredible capability and power.. that would be the deciding factor in the campaigns that were to come. For the first time truly, Dragunov felt he could win this war, and with that impudence in his brain he had instilled something in his Knights that all of the other forces on Traum could not match up against. It was a will to win, a devotion to their cause that made death seem like it was the ultimate thrilling honor. To go out in the blaze of glory fighting for something they really honestly believed in. Dragunov was sticking to the borders more of late, finding more time to wander away from the nervous watchfulness of his pups - whom were growing quite rapidly into veracious and sturdy beasts. Coming here to tend to those who sought to tie their path in destiny with the Order of the Black Stag was a somewhat calming pleasure for him, a stress release if you will. Having shucked away the abandon of his youth, raping and pillaging the countryside at his leisure and had come to a life of policies and regiment, titles, rank and file and how they all must be followed. Or sometimes bent, in the slightest and most minute of ways. As Dragunov rolled through the snow-stripped trees, haunting charred skeletons, he lifted his head ever so slightly, rotating his dome to and fro. He breathed in deep and tasted the very air and the moisture. The scent of blood and insanity was in the air... having spent so much time around it, he was sure it had developed it's own aroma. The unfamiliar tinge to it meant only one thing. A hopeful, a candidate to the cause... or maybe just a suicide wish. A pleased rumble formed in the hulking wolf's ribcage, vibrating violently at the thought and he quickly turned his rhythmic paw steps towards the creator of the scent. On the beach which leaped and vaulted out towards the sea for many many meters the other's whitened form stood out like a slightly off-color smudge. The purple nature of the frothy, icy, early winter sea still remained, reflected by the almost purple hued sky above. He feared no wolf in his domain, and so Dragunov wasted no time in making his presence known as he stepped out onto the beach and rolled into a casual stroll towards Xenios. "Welcome friend, to where the lost souls come to find their purpose." He said this plain and simply as he came within earshot of this strange being, setting his stance wide on his large paws and oddly elegant long legs. Everything about this wolf spoke of pride and nobility, of a respect he had earned through tooth and nail, the way nature had intended it to be. A true practicer in the way of the wolf. This close now, Xenios would be able to see the dead fish-like gleam of his morbid, blue eyes, or the tattered tufts of fur and ragged remaining flesh where his right ear had been torn from his head at the base. And his voice, it came in a measured, metallic smoothness that befitted it's Russian heritage. He watched the other very closely, wanting to dislike the severe movement going on behind those strange eyes. But at the same time, as he had been with the fiery Fetisha, he was oddly intrigued. "I am Dragunov Viktorovitch Solokov, Generalissimus of the Order of the Black Stag."

[Prism]

Weathered as he was, Xenios was no fool to let another's presence slip past his waiting attention. This especially included the authoritative figures of the Sanctum lands he lingered on the edge of. A small grin played across his muzzle as he turned his thick neck towards the leader's direction, his eyes seemingly searching. The weathered madman relied more on his nose and ears than his eyes- irises were just for intimidation, anyway. His front paws turned with his neck, bending his body. Although Xenios held his stance with an undeniable pride, he now stood at a neutral level, almost submissive. He would not think of overpowering the Generalissimus of the Order. Cocky as he was, the brutally minded wolf did not try to take over a leader, especially one with such a reputation. However, this excluded 'sucking up' to the leader figure. Xenios refused to soil his glowing pride just to make an old chump feel better about himself. The eight year old held his average stance, claws digging in the dang when he clenched them and then relaxed. The small waves couldn't muster the strength to wash over such paws, but they did manage to wash away the small claw marks his toes made.

It was then Xenios actually took note that it was snowing, and that the material he mistook for sand was actually the packed white powder that he had grown so immune to. It pleased him that the bitter colds of winter still proved themselves too weak to affect his proud self, and he had to shake the light, fallen precipitation that tainted his coat off, leaving the male feeling a few pounds lighter- another reassuring thought. The fog of his warm, bloodied and metallic breath wafted in front of his nose, until his movement shooed it away. He blinked once, and when he opened his eyes the great Dragunov himself lumbered towards the intruder, being Xenios, on his outskirts. The brute carried his authority on his maw, and it was obviously pulsing through his veins, carried on his back even! Xenios grinned again, offering a slight bow before standing eye-to-eye with the great wolf. They could make out the color of each other's eyes- Xenios's gleaming, toxic and electric greens, and Dragunuv's dead, dull and desaturated blues. They seemed lifeless, yet full of spirit. It intrigued Xenios, and intimidated him at the same time. He chuckled to himself.

"Welcome friend, to where the lost souls come to find their purpose."

Xenios nodded, absorbing the deep vocals from the stranger.

"My gratitude is great for such a warm greeting. Although I assure you my soul is not lost, it has just been laid to rest many years ago. A purpose would be greatly appreciated though, sir."

He spoke roughly, the joking tone leaving his voice in the presence of the dictator over the Order. The two of them made interesting figures, standing by blood tainted water in the snow. They could have been identical if not for the crazed look in Xenios's eyes, and the fact that Dragunuv stood a little taller than Xenios. Power, though, could be cut in the air, even if subtle.

"I am Dragunov Viktorovitch Solokov, Generalissimus of the Order of the Black Stag."


The green eyed monster listened to the syllables of the Russian name carefully, nodding a little.

"I figured just as much- no other wolf would be cocky enough to walk with such posture!" He stated with a slight grin, before continuing. "It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance, General. I am Xenios Tsarr Vasilias, coming from the land of Sentenia, a far away land filled with brutality, but also wolves filled with ignorance and hatred for themselves.

He almost spat out the last few words, anger bubbling up in his gut for the old kingdom he once thought he ruled. He snorted slightly, before turning his attention back to Dragunov, looking past him, as to not stare into the dead pupil's.