(Set after the war, super duper vague on details) A bone deep exhaustion had settled in to the king, existing inexplicably side by side with a fiery desire for revenge. The Sigrun were a scourge on the land, a knowledge that was solidified in the wheat Kings mind in the week of the war. To think that they had come, naming him a false king, trying to take what he had earned. To think that they would send a girl, barely an adult. And then to start a war on his pride lands, to ignore propriety and basic respect. He might have respected them for seeking a pride themselves, had the circumstances been different. But the enemies had come, and clearly the oasis was one of them now too. And the band that settled to the south, were they in enemy, too? Alaric had his allies, and for them he was grateful, but an uneasiness lingered in his veins all the same. Would they come next for his children? Would they take it that far? He could understand Ronin‘s desire to step down and spend more time with his children, to place family above politics. But at the same time he was frustrated to lose his second hand, when they were vulnerable and healing. And so he called for the roguish male who had aspirations of his own, hoping that this offer might stay his desire to leave for a little while. They needed soldiers, and @Violarum had proven himself to be a capable one.

Another buster knuckle bruise

Unlike Alaric, Violarum is blissfully oblivious to the politics of the war that had passed. Perhaps, he is too high upon his Fallon cloud to notice much at all in reality. All he really knew was that Andal Oasis had started trying (and succeeding) to thieve away their members. Was that his fault? Oops.

He makes his way to the King's call lazily, still sporting a plentiful limp, bestowed upon him by the young Oasis male. He was a funny guy. Annoying, but funny. "Hi," he appears, mane riddled with sticks and twigs from his far from graceful wander to the small clearing.

At the best of times, Violarum took the 'bulldozer' approach to traversing The Mire, but with his leg busted, it was more like a small car trying to squash forests. The saplings didn't live to tell the tale, at least.

@Alaric

'Cause I'm a liquorlip loaded gun

_{— art by Rabs}

he hears him coming before he sees him. Alaric waits, patient, and then wonders if he should have moved to meet him. They were both healing, after all. It doesn’t seem to bother @Violarum, though, and Alaric greets the man with a quick nod of his head. “Healing well, I hope?” with a gesture towards his injuries. He pauses just long enough for an answer before moving on. “Ronin has stepped down as sovereign. I need a strong second to lead with me — the rank is yours if you wish.” simple and to the point, Alaric didn’t like to waste words.

Another buster knuckle bruise

Violarum nods upon @Alaric 's question, an eye cast downwards to his own splinted leg before glancing back to the King - supposing he should do the proper thing, "You?" This was the ultimate conversation of men, one word answers and talks of battle glory. He had an odd relationship with the pale sovereign, something of a mutual respect he supposed, despite that they had shared in very little personal talk.

Second. He didn't really like that word, and for a good few moments he doesn't want to be Sovereign - just because he didn't want to be any bodies second. Yet, Vio is entirely aware of his physical state. He would not be fighting any more King's for a while, at least not until he had healed. "Okay," he answers, figuring it didn't change much other than the title he could wave around in people's faces, "I'll be Sovereign."

'Cause I'm a liquorlip loaded gun

_{— art by Rabs}

“As well as I can.” his voice is gruff, hinting at wounds struck that went beyond the surface, beyond flesh and blood. He does not dive in to that, schooling his face in to an impassive mask. Alaric could see the way it rankled him, but waited out the response all the same. Being second was not for everybody, and he knew in time he would lose Violarum to the lure of true leadership, but this would suit them both for the time being. “Good.” It is simple, done and done, and Alaric waits only a moment to see if the other male would have more to add. “Rest up, then. Who knows when the enemies will come knocking again.” Bitterness seeps briefly in to his tone, but he gives Vio a friendly quick nod all the same before he turns to retreat to his den. -exit unless stopped-

Another buster knuckle bruise

Vio is not entirely aware of the sticky situation he finds himself in. Perhaps, he has more reason to befriend the Sigrun than he does the Rike, and yet here he was, expected to consider Alaric's enemies his own. He feels quietly awkward at the glimmer of agony that seeps from the elder male, perhaps a little guilty that he didn't hate these 'enemies' as much as he should.

Regardless, he has a fancy new title now and he supposes he ought to play the part. Which probably meant boasting about it as frequently as possible, fighting lots and continuing his Passage expeditions. He watches @Alaric leave in silence before doing the same. Maybe one day, they'd have a casual conversation.

-- exit

'Cause I'm a liquorlip loaded gun

_{— art by Rabs}