Walking back from the Passage he was beginning to get a sense of the Dragos man beside him. Catching him up as best he could without the use of too many words or phrases. Jafar did not wish to overwhelm @Velimor but gave him everything that he would need that was crucial to life in Firnen. My son, Thrain, is my current Heir. And should the need arise that you feel comfortable, you're welcoming to challenge for a rank of your own. All are filled aside from Gentry .. as well as the Sovereign position. Not that he expected anyone to want to lead beside him as he assumed most everyone assumed it was meant for one of his two wives but Maia was content as she was and Linnaea had only just birthed his children a month ago. It was a lot to ask of anyone so he would allow it to be free range.

^{ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY CALA}

He'd been thankful for some semblance of order, of control. When the first wounds bled at his exile from the Pyre, he had submitted himself to a life of solitude; but such a life was not meant for Velimor, and the Rainforest had proven to be different enough from his old kingdom to not resurface those distant and daunting memories; and close enough that being a soldier for this King felt as equally fulfilling as it was the last. The trek to the Rainforest had been long, but not unenjoyable. The laws and guidances Jafar had given him had been well-received, thoughtfully understood; content was he to remain a Firnen dog, should the King wish of it, and Velimor strove not to desire more than that. He had once before.

It had been his undoing.

He was lost in his own thoughts by the time they reached the border of the Rainforest, but the King's voice quickly recaptured his attention. He had once been the great general of an army, the sword wielded by the Emperor himself. A rank seemed almost natural as breathing, and yet, Velimor hesitated. His gaze lingered a little too long on @Jafar, his jaws tensed, but his gaze betraying nothing of the turmoil that stirred inside. I make a fine soldier, he began, a small smile unfurling upon his lips. No matter how hard he tried, he could not look away. Any lessons of diplomacy would be wasted on me. There is almost a cheekiness to his response; nothing unkind, but rather amused at the idea of ever reaching for more than was his right to hold.

Jafar seemed a fine enough King, as it were. And Velimor knew better than to keep staring.

Jafar, too, had been born to be a soldier to wield. A necessary twist in his own family's army and to never waver in his path and yet, he had. If his elders could see him now they would likely spit at his paws and call him a threat to the Casales name and yet, Jafar saw no flaw. If anything, he was making it better. It wasn't like any of his brothers or cousins had stayed to make sure the name continued as it had supposed to have been. So having @Velimor walking at his side felt easy, as though he were walking with a fellow soldier that he had already marched into battle with. That was how effortless it felt.

Gentry it is, then. Jafar did not often hand out ranks and was almost tempted to fight the guy here and now but, he did not wish to go home bloody and torn to his month old children. Not yet, anyway. If that is acceptable? Jafar wanted to see what the guy was capable of if he were going to hold such a rank but was just going to have to make do on not testing him yet.

The urge, however, was most certainly there. To tussle with the guy and have an excuse to be all the closer but for now, he was going to settle on their one to two feet proximity where he could simply smell the male's musk and hope that this was a long-term arrangement and that he wouldn't vanish in a heart's beat.

^{ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY CALA}

There was a kinmanship hidden between them. Flaws within @Jafar's past that made him far more real than the perfection he had once known. A man who'd never made any mistakes had cast the sinful Velimor down from his seat of honor and scarred what little of his name remained loyal to him, his family scattered in the autumnal wind. And yet here, now, he stood. The offer a rank gives him pause, stopping mid-stride to catch the deep violet gaze of the Rainforest King. He too had expected a fight, but knew his capabilities could also be proven after the fact; he had no intention of shirking what kindness was given to him, regardless of his own apprehensions and hesitations.

Of course, he dipped his head, not wanting to sound disrespectful. An almost boyish excitement crept up in its wake, a yearning desiring the fulfilling feeling of duty once more. A familiar feeling, finally, not one so shrouded in dread and uncertainty. And yet, each step closer to his past felt just as dangerous.

He still felt that growing intensity. How familiar it was, how much it sparked underneath his skin.

Thank you, my King, he clears his throat, glancing away from him; he had been staring too long, again. I suppose being a Gentry entails more than just patrolling and defending. This land were vastly different from the ones he'd come from, and he had already experienced what it was like to be met with others at the border of the country, ushering and enticing wayward travelers into their greedy homes. Were his duties to stretch that far, as well?

Would learning of them help keep his thoughts focused, his gaze grounded?

To say that he was somewhat taken aback by being called my King was an understatement. There was something in those syllables that made his bones rattle inside of his body and his heart felt squeezed. Yet, it also felt as though it was more full than it had been. A sensation he was unfamiliar with and yet as his gaze cast to @Velimor to realize that the man had been looking at him with a burning intensity that had yet to realize, well. Jafar felt hot. Like, way too hot for the summer months.

I suppose.. so, yes. He feels like his tongue is weaker and looser, body aching to close whatever distance was between them and yet, he couldn't. Shouldn't more like, whatever this was it felt like it was not meant for him. Gentry's typically do the duty of going to the Passage, where we just were. Recruiting folks; challenging our enemies should they attempt to claim someone against their will. He paused, if only to think on what else a Gentry's duties were. Noble and Gentry had a lot more to do with the pride than any of the others and he hoped that it wouldn't be too much work on the newly recruited.

In the event that a war proceeds, you would be instructed to assist. Whether by attacking a lion of the opposing pride or by protecting one of our own. It was a lot, he knew, but if he were a true born soldier then none of these task should be too much. If anything, it would be exactly what he was looking for.

^{ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY CALA}

Velimor had meant no disrespect in his words, but the idea of it hadn't come to him until long after he had said it. For so long had the seat of power been so unreachable, and for so long had the Emperor delighted in the way Velimor had addressed him, it felt almost natural. He'd not realized he'd been holding his breath until his lungs began to burn, but he did not dare exhale until @Jafar seemed to relax; even if the King did suddenly seem far more tense, and the air between them heavier, electrifying.

This was how it all started before, too, wasn't it?

He was thankful, then, that a particular piece of Jafar's statement caught his interest. Claim? he asked, a lionish brow raising curiously. He could wade through their growing intensity by latching onto such a unique thing; where he'd come from, everything had belonged to the Emperor. What existed there simply became his. There was never a need for a proclamation, for a fight. With so much competition here, however, it seemed only natural; these were not entirely free lands, either.

Though, the idea of Jafar laying claim to something—or someone—was almost hauntingly delightful.

Velimor quickly tensed, his gaze refocusing. I've fought in many armies, felled many foes, he began again, his voice suddenly, noticeably faltering. At least there, I can assure you I will not fail. And, hopefully, that were where it mattered most.

It was disorienting, at worst, the way that being called My King made him feel. If anything, it made him feel invincible and like he should be pushing his paw against another's windpipe. It made him feel ten times stronger and more capable, it made him feel alive. Still it continued to ripple through him as he felt invigorated by a conversation with the warrior, the soldier, the victor. Yes, he answered just as simply back to @Velimor, wondering if he was reinforcing the information and simply did not understand the concept. The two lions at the Passage, they are each from two other prides. With Firnen, that makes seven other prides. Plus a small band of lions that live to the North, in the Jungle. He pauses, gauging the situation as his nails scrape through the dirt and grass beneath his paws.

Eventually he finds his lilac gaze turning to the fiery eyes of his new gentry, Vermeda Brook and Illyria Summit are our immediate allies. Should either of them claim - which I doubt they would do so maliciously - you support them however you can. Andal you can trust. If anyone attempted to be a shit about it, Velimor could attack them or at the very least express that they genuinely fuck off. Ecrosia we will not bother. We have secured a truce where we will not mettle in each other's affairs. If you find that they are mettling in ours, you may intervene. Jafar did not wish to disrupt the truce that Maia had put in place for Firnen before he took it over, but he would if he found that Alaric couldn't hold that and his members together.

Most every other pride is a large unknown. Wolfbron Bluffs we are to be wary and cautious of, as they are the Summit and Vermeda's too. Pause. Wolfbron is allies with several of the other prides and thus, on my to-be-wary-of list. Wolfbron had been held by the same lions for a while now but their bodies had spread out over the land quite a bit. At the mention of not failing in the art of being a soldier and fighting, Jafar did feel confident in the male. Perhaps more than he might have if he didn't feel so smitten excited by the prospect of having a capable individual within his ranks.

I do not doubt that you are capable. If you are able to recruit more to our pride, that would be most helpful. I could do with more lions that are willing to fight. Velimor had been a gem to find and recruit, a perfect individual to have join at this moment as there was no telling when a war would come knocking and he would have to join in.

^{ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY CALA}

Had he known his words made @Jafar feel the way he did, he might have quivered in delight. Outwardly, however, it felt as if nothing but a fleeting pause. Clenched teeth, bated breath. Velimor was thankful that the King seemed intent on this conversation, and divulged the inner workings of a pride that had competition, alliances, enemies. The brutal conquering of the Pyre had not quite reached Amaryllis, and in its fledgling state, the warring states of like-minded ambitious individuals ruled what may eventually be one united realm, should a lion ever grow powerful enough to conquer it all. In the wake of it, it seemed, Jafar had built his walls around him with each brick carefully planned, forged and reinforced upon his soldiers and diplomacies.

It was admirable, desirable, the way he was so vastly different from him, and yet the same all at once.

There were ten of them. Ten prides taking up such a vast peninsula seemed both too much and too little all at once. Firnen's borders were vast enough to hold an army of lions, and yet it felt as if it were still too small. The entirety of Amaryllis could not been seen from shore to shore even upon its highest peak, but the vastness of the land only stretched so far, and her borders finite against the sea that stretched far beyond. And yet, Velimor committed these names to heart. At the end of Jafar's speech, Velimor assumed one thing to be true: do not go messing with others. Not that he'd had too much intention to do so. It were not his goal to bring war upon Firnen's doorstep, and though he'd always been the right hand of a brutal warmonger, raised the savage and dutiful dog of Kings, he'd no intention of bringing such bloodshed down upon the bronze King's shoulders.

I shall keep an eye out for Wolfbron, then, he concluded, keeping the name of the pride the most on his radar. He'd no intention of snuffing them out, but perhaps it he could learn their scents, he could make sure none of them strayed too close to their borders. It were an appealing prospect; he could feel an almost excited swell unfurl deep within his chest, filling him with an energy he'd not quite felt in some time. It almost felt as if he were taken back to those early days, and that the man before him was the same one he'd loved all those years ago; in this light, they seemed almost indistinguishable, and Velimor had to hold himself back from closing the distance between them.

The idea of recruiting, however, fettered him in place. Kept him grounded.

Velimor let out the breath he'd not known he'd been holding. The heat that had curled upon his cheeks quickly dissipated, and a panic settled in the wake of his realization that he'd almost broken his composure. He was certain his foot was dangling right before him, too, as if he'd been mid-step. I can do that, he affirmed, clearing his throat with an awkward cough. Though I'm not nearly as eloquent and charming as you were. In fact, Velimor's attempts at courting potential members would most likely involve awkward promises of greatness and prosperity, or perhaps dragging them here by the tail.

Each brick carefully laid out and placed in their particular order. He was not much of an instigator, but he relied heavily on building. He needed lions that were going to commit to the cause that was Firnen. That would follow him, Thrain or even Maia into battle because it was for their home and their life. That those that came into the pride recognized that what they had was good and worth preserving. However, he also needed lions that were willing to fight to preserve that. I do not believe that they will come at our borders seeking trouble, but they may to our allies. As far as he knew, his members had kept their distance from stirring shit with those from the Bluffs and vice versa. He could only know what he was told.

There is a male. Aeistrios is his name. He briefly came for the pride a while back and was forced to leave by the monkeys that live here. A strange occurrence by them but he applauded them for their unlisted service. We are, by the grace of one of my wives, helping now to keep a child of his alive. If you stumble across him, be... friendly but observant. Jafar did not yet know what he wanted from the guy out of the debt that he now owed Firnen (or to Linnaea, really) but for now, he just wanted to know who he was actually dealing with. He hadn't gotten a chance to meet them or get a read on them, but he still needed to know that they weren't going to be a future threat to the life he had built here.

Other than that, really, Jafar had no personal enemies. Amethyst eyes sought @Velimor's fiery orange, captivated by their fire in the brief moment that his being refocused. Eloquent and charming, eh? his lips curled into a smile at one corner. Don't think I have ever been called either of those. Especially not eloquent. He was, typically, a man of very few words and yet lately he had had done a lot more to fix that. To show the world around him that he was approachable and not at all intimidating to those that mattered.

^{ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY CALA}

Despite the roots @Jafar had sewn, the allegiances and relationships he had built between himself and other prides, there were far more behind the scenes of Firnen that were slowly unfolding. It were an elegant play, a tale of comedy and drama that, for once, did not have Velimor center stage. He were content to be its foil, to play the small soldier part in a grand scheme that erupted not because of him but in spite of him. He couldn't help the cunning grin that slowly settled onto his lips; it is stopped, only, when Jafar mentions his wife. One of his wives. Even Velimor cannot help but stammer out; the crack in his facade is blistering and wide open. Wives? Pleural?

The threads of monogamy had been sewn deep from where he'd come; it was that very scandal that had purged Velimor and his ilk from their homelands. And yet, desperate to regain his composure, Velimor quickly keens in on Jafar's words about this Aeistrios, his name almost slipping from memory as he attempts to recapture any semblance of decorum. So they are keeping his spawn, Velimor then considered thoughtfully; were it he, he would have culled it, made sure that Aeistrios had no lineage to pass his rage onto, and make certain the strength of their brutality.

Jafar were a very different man. His strength came through different means, ones Velimor was not repelled by. Instead, there was something different, something deeper; an attraction to it, almost.

Understood, is all he resolves to say, keeping his darker thoughts hidden from the King. He is content not to dwell of it for long, especially now as the deep violet gaze of the bronze King finds the fiery orange of his own, and that intensity sparks once more, his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed by the informative conversation they had shared amongst each other and the fragments of far more delectable pieces sprinkled in between. You have a grace most Kings don't, he elaborates, biting back the smile that threatened to unfurl upon his dark lips, or the heat that beggared to rise to his cheeks, You have given mercy to this beggar King by sparing his child when he threatens your home. You have brokered peace with most of the prides here without giving up the strength of your fortress, the ferocity of your army. One that Velimor is keen to partake in; one that is dangerous, delectable, delightful.