He could see immediately why Soren had chosen this place. A sense of home echoed between the mountain valleys, the crisp mountain winds all too familiar. The sky was littered with greyish clouds, swiftly passing over and off the sun so that Ruslan found himself walking in shade, then sunshine, and shade once again. The cool air made him feel alive, his eyes bright with anticipation. The tall, brawny male forged his way with caution, jaw parted to capture the surrounding scents. It didn't take long for the odorous aroma of a pride to catch his attention, and he slowed his intentional walk. This seemed to be the right way to the borders, per Soren's instruction. Ruslan did not know much of the inhabitants of the Wolfbron Bluffs, whether they would be hostile or friendly, so he made his approach with care. The mountains were eerily silent, apart from the occasional scream of an eagle, a breeze whistling through the rocks. A wave of uncertainty filled Ruslan, and his gaze flicked across the border in search of signs of movement. Regardless of his wariness, the Guardian cut an impressive figure, unknowingly a valuable addition to any pride who might have him. He was all muscle and brawn, and carried himself with a calm confidence that was enough to make nearly anyone think twice about opposing him. Perhaps Soren would come soon to greet him. A series of baritone chuffs would hopefully alert the Wolfbron clan - or pride, as they called it here - of his presence. AW - joining? “Font" "medved'"

Table by Ice. Graphic by Moogle.

Sandy toned paws that had just been carrying Faust across a stony ledge paused then turned in the direction of a new voice at his borders. A stranger, male, close enough and intent enough in his call that he could only have been calling into the territory for what resided there. Or who.

Injured or not, he had guests. The angel only hoped that he would not find them causing trouble.

His bitten shoulder was doing better, feeling less stiff, 'luckily' most of the damage had been to his face and not his legs so the journey to the border did not take him long. What he found was about what he expected, a strange male waiting for a reply to his call.

"Mh'hma," Faust greeted, tilting his head at the bronze and onyx furred stranger. "My name is Faust and I am the Archangel of Wolfbron Bluffs, what brings you to my lands?"

@Ruslan

Art by Eerien00dle | Coding by Werge

It didn't take long for another creature to emerge from the shadows. The sandy beast was even bigger than he was, and was laced in wounds - a fighting creature. Ruslan was greeted, possibly in a strange language he did not recognize, unless he'd misheard the other. The lion introduced himself as Faust, the..archangel. Stone-faced, Ruslan regarded the other. Did that mean he was the ruler? A protector, perhaps? Such terminology was foreign and meant as little to him as his own title "Guardian" would probably mean to Faust here. The broad-shouldered male nodded in greeting. “Greetings Faust," his voice a soft rumble, the hint of some undeterminable accent at its fringe. “I'm Ruslan Rurik. My brother Soren said he resides here and I wish to join him here in Wolfbron." The name of the pride was said carefully, with an unfamiliar tone; Ruslan was still learning the names of the prides here, and he felt like he was walking on eggshells a bit. This was all quite foreign to him and he didn't know what customs were practiced here, what could be a cause of offense to another. And frankly, Ruslan wondered what had happened to the lion who had inflicted these wounds on Faust...unless they happened to somehow be even bigger than this "archangel", surely it was an undesirable fate... “Font" "medved'"

Table by Ice. Graphic by Moogle.

This he couldn't miss. To not be there to welcome @Ruslan with open arms would make Soren the worst brother ever! Alas, he was a little tardier than he'd anticipated, but at least by the time he arrived things had not progressed too far without him. The Rurik would make a beeline straight for his littermate, but not before pausing to offer a dip of the head in greeting to @Faust beforehand. After all, he wanted to make a good impression and to blank your King was not a good way to start! "Welcome, brother," Soren purred happily, seeking to butt the top of his head against Ruslan's chin. Gently, though - he was still frail. He would then move to stand parallel to the borders, so that he could keep both Faust and Ruslan in his sights. Artie was the only one missing now, but Soren had every intention of rounding them up and bringing them into the fold where they belonged. In the brother pile, snuggled up.

Ah, so he was to become a witness to a family reunion. That at least made introductions easier.

"I see, Soren had mentioned before that he had been seperated from his siblings. I hadn't quite expected them to start appearing on my borders so soon." He studied the male's face, noting the way his words were clipped. Not in a standoffish or angry way, no, the male looked almost nervous. Or else, as he was fond of thinking, a good actor. For now, he would acting accordingly.

"Well @Ruslan, if your brother can vouch for you then I don't see why we can't find a place for you within our pride." Just as these words left his mouth came the padding of paws, excited sounding at the sight of their visitor. Faust hardly needed to turn his eyes to know it was @Soren, come to welcome his kin with warmth that made something in the Archangel's gut twinge bitterly. That was quickly shoved down, his heel on its throat until the feeling faded and he made his voice known again.

"I think I hardly have to ask from the looks of things, but are you confident in putting a good word in for your brother, Soren?"

Art by Eerien00dle | Coding by Werge

Faust commented that Soren had mentioned him already perhaps, to which Ruslan's ears perked. Instantly he noted the way this stranger spoke his brother name, checking for any trade of malice or disdain or otherwise hints of trouble. The only thing he didn't particularly care for was the comment about Ruslan's arrival, almost as if Faust had expected it, and instantly his guard was up once more. His internal spite was not so much as Faust personally, rather the long-standing tradition that the Rurik did not owe anyone anything. But that's not how the game was played here. Here, he was just another number, a headcount for a pride. Clan life was so much more superior, he felt, prejudiced for his own way of life. Bruised ego aside, Ruslan knew he would have to keep his mouth shut and take this new way of life into stride, for this was the future for the Rurik. Regardless, Faust had confirmed with this that he was in fact the leader of this pride, and was therefore the exact creature Ruslan was looking for. Before Ruslan could speak, a familiar face appeared, and a smile crossed his dark face unbidden. Who couldn't love Soren, anyways? He leaned into Soren's greeting, the faintest crackling purr in his chest. He noticed how light his brother's touch was; Soren was ever perceptive of others, caring and taking note of their needs. Ruslan was still somewhat battered and bruised from his recent escapade, but he was mending quickly with the help of Elijah and some other recent healers he'd come across. Ruslan's grey gaze flicked back up as Faust spoke, and he stepped around his brother, regarding the other. Hardly the fearful sort, the big warrior was instead ever tactical, wary of his surroundings, anticipating the worst so as to be prepared for it. “Allow me to speak for myself," the Guardian requested, with a respectful nod. “My actions prove my mettle and trustworthiness, although my brother's good opinion is a testament to a worthy character," he added, glancing at Soren briefly before fixing his gaze to this archangel. “I work hard and I'm a worthy addition to any clan's ranks." The verbage was incorrect in the spirit of the moment, perhaps, but the heart was there. “I have years of experience as a protector and lead hunter for my clan and I have much to offer." Ruslan added stoutly, wondering, so what can Wolfbron offer me? “Font" "medved'"

Table by Ice. Graphic by Moogle.

When @Faust posed the question of sponsorship, Soren did not even need to hesitate - of course he would! He felt rusty with the ways of pride living, and it hadn't even occurred to him that perhaps he would have to vouch for @Ruslan. Not that Ruslan needed vouching for, of course. His lips would part to form the words, yet no sound would come; the clay-pelted bear would make his stance clear, prompting the other Rurik to hold his tongue. Silvery gaze would linger on the face of his littermate. Something in the back of his mind wondered if perhaps these two would end up clashing, but - for the sake of positivity - he would refrain from dwelling on that for now. Instead he would remain attentive, observant, ever-hopeful.

Faust remained silent once again as @Ruslan spoke, seeming almost offended by his fate being left to his kin's word. Faust's mouth was kept in neutral straightness, his eyes calculating but patient as the brown furred male provided his own credentials. @Soren as well had held his own tongue, letting his brother speak as he would.

When things had stilled once more, Faust come alive once more from his position of watchful statue.

The Archangel laughed, the sound deep and rumbling but not without something that one could construe as warmth. It didn't go on long before he let the sound die, nodding toward their newest prospective member.

"I apologize, mirn maura. It is not you who I laugh at, but the situation." Things could have gone just a bit different, maybe even for both of the siblings, if Ruslan had been happy to let Soren sing his praises while preening in the light. "When I first claimed the bluffs, the male who I had challenged had a friend who did much the same, asking me to let my competition rule alongside me. He gave his praises and accomplishments while the man nodded along, telling me it was the truth."

He cast his eyes across the pair once more, wondering briefly if they shared parents. Their only similarities seemed to be in their short tails and dense builds, but similarities there were.

"I appreciate your candor and pluck, Ruslan. To speak for yourself before falling back on the blood sweetened word of one's kin." He raised his brows and shifted his attention to the paler of the two. "You've also done well to let him speak, Soren." Was it a verbal head pat? Oh, of course not at all, simply appreciation for a job well done! Yes.

"Though you have the incentive of family being here, I feel like you may have questions about this place you seek to call home. If you would like voice them, I can answer what I can." This was sent Ruslan's way.

Art by Eerien00dle | Coding by Werge

Ruslan would have gladly allowed Soren's good judgment to shine in nearly any other situation, although this seemed different. First impressions were important, and there was much to be said for having the mettle to speak for oneself. It was only the behavior Ruslan himself would have desired or even expected from someone who was intent on joining his ranks, so he felt it only appropriate to speak for himself. He knew Soren would understand, and his sweet brother waited patiently at his side. When Ruslan quieted, gaze fixed on the sandy leader, he lifted a brow in surprise that Faust's response was to laugh. Confused, he glanced sideways at Soren - did I say something funny? Is there something stuck in my teeth?. Faust was kind enough to explain his mirth, as it seemed a similar situation had presented itself to him not long ago. Ruslan wondered if this was what his wounds were from, some great battle for territorial rights. “How audacious," he commented, referencing the challenger. “Is that a normal practice in this place?" Ruslan glanced at Soren questioningly. Perhaps his brother knew more than he did of this land's customs. “To beg for leadership rights after a battle was lost squarely?" He tsked disapprovingly. Rurik knew when they'd lost and would seek no honorable mentions, no pacifying rewards. Losing meant unworthiness, even for a Rurik. It meant the spirits did not wish for them to be victorious. Ruslan knew if the day came that the crown rested upon his own head, no such benefits would be offered his opponent. At least, that's what he assumed. Who knew what fate would bring? The Guardian said nothing of Faust's praises, dipping his head in a curt nod instead (not being the sort to swell and purr at a pat on the head, as he was rather awkward at handling compliments). When asked if he had any questions, Ruslan thought things over carefully for a moment, turning the question over in his mind. Finally, he spoke. “Tell me how to earn my keep." He said. It was the only question on his mind, the only thing he felt he needed to pay mind to. Ruslan was here to work, build relationships, seek information. In Ruslan's mind everything came with a price, and he felt that by surrendering his prideless status to Wolfbron, he surely must owe something in return. He was respectful of Faust's territory, as he would expect others to be of his own, and he felt that surely there was some job or position he must take on in the pride's ranks to make himself useful. “Font" "medved'"

Table by Ice. Graphic by Moogle.

So keen were he for things to go well that it is jarring, at first, when @Faust laughed. He were almost inclined to assume the worst - for whatever reason, as the colossal monarch had not given any sign to show that he were displeased, so it was down to Soren projecting more so than anything else - but the nerves melted away pleasantly when it transpired that the man was genuinely amused. The alabaster Rurik would arch a brow incredulously at the story that followed. "How bizarre," he would hum, in agreement with his sibling. "It sounds as if you made the right decision, Faust." He would merely shrug upon being questioned by @Ruslan as to whether or not that were common-place in this land; to talk was not particularly the way of the Rurik, nor the Larsen. They'd always favoured making their points in other ways. Mathias had been a talkative exception to the rule, moulded by the privilege of a throne. He would smile under the approval of his new liege, dipping his head in pleased acknowledgement and resisting the urge to preen inwardly. Verbal head pat or not, it had landed its mark.