SIROCCO EUDOXIA

In the time of his recovery, Sirocco was finding he liked the quaint charm of Hearthstone. Never straying far from it, he frequented the Hall and observed the hunters under the helm of Arakses--and it is here that the once-knight had recognized the same familiar pang of loneliness. This, this image of breaking bread, laughing around the table with grins and victorious songs of hunts in the area he know knew as the Far Forest was something that had always elluded him. The thoughts both painful and lonely were however abruptly cut when a message from Arakases had reached his ears. With out a second thought the ebony stag retreated to his small cot, fetched the armor he'd been so graciously been allowed to purchase and slipped it over his tattered body. And the final touch, at least till they reached warmer climates, was a shaggy coat of fur to stave off the horrid freeze.


That had been days ago now. The journey was one of relative silence but there was comfort in it. It gave Rocco time to consider what this world was like outside his limited view, and ponder the ways they could approach this other Queen in the land of Atollon. He'd seen his fair share, been to court too many times to count and knew old habits would resurface in light of pleasantries. Rocco was however curious to see the Jaegar in action--Arakses had been such a breath of fresh air: her sarcasm and ice cold wit were a welcome change to the lies and masks of his home. Just because he enjoyed it didn't mean others wouldn't, and Rocco would remain at the ready should even a hint of trouble be detected. It didn't show. He hid this well. Even as their surroundings turned more grim, dour as a crumbling cathedral came into view. He noted then, the huff of air from Arakses' nose and raised a brow of inquiry.

"Something amusing, Arakses'?" He asked. "I must admit I did not expect to be meeting at a place such as this."

A few lengths inward and the overall aura felt cold. Yes, he remembered something similar in the catacombs if his family estate, where ancestors hundreds of years old were buried. Some were praised war heros, others were forgotten tyrants. And then there was his mother--her statue so beautifully carved and hidden away from the world. If he were honest, it had always felt like an injustice. He wondered then, what the story behind his captor and subsequent leader was? The icy mare had never much spoken and only did so when necessary (a trait he admired for sure) leaving much of her an enigma. He supposed perhaps one day he'd ask, but for now the origin of the wolf-like huntress was not the priority. He moved his head in a half circle, taking in their surroundings in full.

Quietly he moved forward, listening and watching carefully before he caught the gaze of Arakses "Should things go horribly in the face of this meeting, might I advise you to run and let me hold off whatever may come?"His voice was barely audible, wouldn't want someone to hear other than his leader now would he? It was then that his causal demeanor had changed and a strange seriousness crept into his visage. Rocco was never a cold man, but this was the closest to it. "Well, at the very least, retreat to high ground and use that bow of yours." A bow he very much wanted to see in action. He wondered then, if the force of it could pierce through armor and silently wished he had his Warhammer. What a sight that would be to use it again.