Reign Over Ice

[Seven]

Remsing had no fear of her being able to actually steal his treasure. Even if she managed to snatch it up, they wouldn’t have been able to leave the ward; only he could take them in and out. And it made for great sport, he noted, and he snickered obviously as she banged her head for the failed attempt. Shameless beasty.

She began yammering on about this or that and his eyes dropped to a bored half-mast. Jaw opening wide, he began to yawn and—that was when she mostly rudely snapped him up like some sort of toolbox or worse, her cub. Just because she was currently larger than him in this form… He made an irritated, if not threatening growl for the action, but they both knew he wasn’t going to pursue it. Time between the rather perpetual ice blizzards were few and far-between. Not taking advantage of leaving now while they could meant they’d have to hole up for perhaps another month.

His head popped out of pouch pressed against her thick, downy underbelly, the unfrozen part of his face still contorted in petulance. Of all of the indignity… They had both designed this “saddle” long time ago, though neither of them could clearly remember when or how due to the nature of their screwed up existence. There were a few blurbs that they had eventually agreed had happened, or assumed did. Anonyma thought it deeming to be saddled, whereas he thought she ought to be honored to be his noble steed. She gave him, supposing he made a good tool to have on her person. Each continued to stubbornly think what they wanted, but the end result was a double-sided saddle. Or rather, a pocket and a saddle. Anonyma argued the practicality of being put in the “pocket” which was warmer (and her dignity), and Remsing argued the saddle on her back (his dignity and her lack thereof). She may have shoved him as she had pleased, but he didn’t stand for it. As she was busy climbing, he himself scuttled around, taking a seat on the other side. The truth was, he would probably eventually want to go back into the pocket when the ice came, but he wasn’t going to just let her assume she could control him. Not when there were already other indignities he had to shoulder.

As they broke the surface, Remsing took in a deep breath, puffing his chest out almost like something inflatable, and when he squeezed the air out again, he wrenched fur out of his skin. Remsing might not have been able to remember (or believed), but Anonyma knew all too well the transformative abilities of ghouls and the wide variety of shapes and forms they came in from when they had captured her. She could hear Remsing grumbling quietly to himself from above and behind her, meaning that if she were to look back now, he’d have been a giant puff-ball, all white fluff with two eyes and limbs that seemed like noodly appendages jetting out of the spherical floof. It was embarrassing to him, but hey, at least he was talented enough to not have to pack for a whole damn army.

After putting on the proverbial winter coat, he took to muttering again, and when he ceased, the faintest shimmer encased a spherical section around them both. The barrier set in place, hail and snow and ice would have a difficult time touching them now.

[Forsaken]

Anonyma did look briefly over her shoulder, wanting to affirm for the part of her that still felt freshly awakened in this new world that yes, the white ghoul had indeed turned himself into what looked like a giant ball of dandelion fluff. He was lucky though; she was more interested in this trip than she was in teasing him at a time when he'd likely have no patience for it. Besides; she was grateful that he'd included her in his shield. He didn't have to, and he might choose to pull it back if she gave him too hard a time. The winds might not be roaring by at top hurricane speeds, but the breeze that remained was still quite mercilessly cold and unpleasant. There was nothing to slow it down within this icy wasteland. 

The City of Manticore was a few hours away, but they were having the luck of a mostly uneventful trip. It was never wise to let one's guard down out here; the storms were fierce and frequent, the dust devils whipped up by the wind could more accurately be called full-scale tornadoes, and there lurked on the outskirts of the Guardian's city a whole host of ugly land locusts that were about as unfriendly as they were stupid and ugly. This night started off so silent and still that it was just about preternatural. 

They were within an hour's range of the city when the outlines of about three wolves peeled away from the shadows and Anonyma came to a stop. The wolves had not yet seen them, so she took a moment to observe. It wasn't unexpected to see them here; desperate wolf kin were known to try and find their way to Wyvern when the storms cleared and stakes had grown too desperate to wait for the Sentries from Wyvern to arrive. Unfortunately, they also had a tendency to act aggressively toward strange Forsaken in the wastelands. It didn't help that Anonyma's large size could only be matched by the most powerful of the Forsaken, so she was an immediately alarming sight to newcomers. She stood quietly in the dark, hoping for the sake of their loose alliance with Wyvern's wolf kin that these would either pass by before they caught their scent on the wind, or at least have sense enough to try and run. Otherwise, it could get a little tense when she had to explain to their Sentry contact why they'd had to die if the topic came up. 

And it was hard to hide the evidence from creatures whose sense of smell was a damn superpower. As lost as the trio of wolves had looked with their unconfident gait, they snapped to attention and turned in Remsing and Anonyma's direction so abruptly she knew they'd had to have sniffed them out.

She glanced back at Remsing to see if he was paying attention. It was the only warning he'd get before she slipped out of all her gear with a quick shift into her human form. Darting out of the heavy collapsing tent of a cloak she'd been wearing, she shifted back into her raccoon form for the fight. Wolves were stronger on flat terrain than raccoons, so even though she had the size advantage she didn't want to risk damage to any of her items. They still had a whole trip back to make after all. 

One wolf of the three was holding back; it appeared to be quite young. The other two were circling, growling menacingly. All of them were a dark blond in color, so they were probably relatives. She snarled back at them, snapping at the closest. It wasn't close enough for her to land a strike, but she hadn't meant to. She had just given them the last warning they were going to get. The targeted wolf jumped back, and the second wolf seized the opportunity to launch itself at her back while it was turned. 

So far, neither had payed any mind to Remsing. Either they hadn't been able to see him in the dark since he matched the snow so well, or had decided his smaller size meant he was the lesser threat. 

((Hopefully this post isn't terribly flawed in some way or other. I am so tired. : P ))

[Seven]

((I seriously don’t know why you worry. I don’t know how you manage it, since you were writing at all hours of the morning, and I, by comparison, felt half dead at this hour and utterly incoherent. So yeah, same concerns here. Hope mine is okay.))

Remsing was well aware of the three wolves unfortunate enough to cross their path. He watched them keenly, holding back for a moment, waiting to see what would happen. One of his objectives for leaving home having a chance to feed, and though anyone would do the trick, Anonyma, even if she didn’t state it (of course she didn’t like it either way), had her clear preferences. She wasn’t exactly a beacon of morality, but he sensed some sympathies from her regardless of her talk of alliances. Alliances were a fair enough reason either way, so he said nothing.

Not that any of that mattered now that the wolves had made the first strike. He moved to spring out of the cloak just the same as Anonyma, but the massive amounts of downy fur he was relatively unused to got caught up in the fabrics and slowed him down. Though his transformations were plentiful and varied, they weren’t quite as seamless and quick as those of anyone who just had one. As quickly as he could, he returned to his preferred, sleek self, throwing the heavy cloak up and off of him with a slight huff, just in time to see the second wolf leap for Anonyma’s back. He was fast, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cross that distance in the snow in time.

He did the next best thing. Shot from the angle perpendicular to the wolf’s lunge, wind and ice crashed into the wolf’s side, violently knocking them off their midair course. Remsing’s abilities may not have been as talented as the Guardians’ magic, who could manifest the elements from nothing, but he could easily manipulate what already existed. And ice and wind that matched the aesthetic of the White Ghoul so well was nothing to scoff at. Also, there was a lot of it.

Though he could have easily continued casting magic from that safe distance, much like Anonyma the White Ghoul could not resist being a hands-on sort of creature. He knew the trajectory the wolf would take once the unexpected blow knocked it off course, and shot like a viper through the snow. The wolf was still severely disadvantaged while it was in the air, and before it could land or right itself, Remsing had already tacked it forward, teeth snapping at its neck. Even with the freezing, whipping winds, he could smell the taste of food.

[Forsaken]

It was obvious when an icy gale roared past the fur on Anonyma's back, bringing with it a few small stray pieces of ice that bounced harmlessly off her fur, that Remsing had already begun to take care of the second wolf. She had nothing but sympathy for that poor soul. Not enough sympathy to intervene, not even close, but a slight twinge was more than nothing. He was right about her, of course. Sympathies for members of the canine family were something she'd possessed across the span of both her lives. 

Not that such sympathies made her gentler. In practice, she only became more erratic and severe when she was torn between desired outcomes.

The wolf that remained in front of her had hesitated in it's own lunge when it saw it's partner get blown away, clearly surprised. The giant raccoon bared it's teeth and bristled it's thick fur, but she was about as excited about killing the refugee as a small child was about a plate full of vegetables. She was just going through the motions, pushing the carrots around with her fork, hoping some adult just came and took the plate from her already. Or that the small wolf in the background would just leave and stop being such a huge distraction. 

The wolf she was supposed to be fighting sprang forward and snapped at her neck, aiming for the killing blow with surprising swiftness for a novice. Anonyma was faster still, deftly catching the creature and smashing it onto a chunk of ice like her ancestors would with a clam they were trying to bust open. Unfortunately, the wolf had managed to pinch the skin of her neck with it's powerful jaws, opening up a gash that was too small to be more than a nuisance, but just large enough to send a shock of pain through her system. Reacting viciously to the pain as she was known to do, she lifted the wolf again and tore a chunk out of the back of it's skull with her canine teeth. 

Well, that did it. She hadn't meant to kill it just then, but it was most certainly dead now. She let the mouthful of gore drip slowly out of her mouth as she made a menacing charge at the young wolf, which bolted wildly away into the plains. Good. The Sentries would find it later.

In the meantime, Remsing's wolf fought to right itself and break free from the snow demon that had it in his clutches. It twisted and tried to clamp it's sharp toothed jaws on the ghoul's shoulder, struggling to tear it's tormentor free of the grip he held and, in doing so, get the upper hand. The angry snarls ripped through the otherwise desolate plain like lightning through the night sky. 

[Seven]

The red and white swirl of Remsing’s eyes was only that much eerie and hypnotic when they were opened to their full width with manic bloodlust. The neck would have been a considerably quicker, less painful way to go, but like all little beasties, the wolf just had to fight back. Now it was no longer a matter of going for a painless end before Remsing feasted, for truly, there were very many vulnerable places on the body. And the squirming wolf-kin, so desperate to be out of his grip revealed one.

Remsing let the creature bite down onto his shoulder, but anticipated the blow well. Rather than teeth meeting soft, smooth flesh, scales as impenetrable as dragon’s hide had cropped up. It was only momentary, energy having been concentrated and pooled to that spot, but it was all Remsing had needed. As the the jolt of pain resonated in the wolf’s head from the hard impact against teeth, Remsing’s clawed hand speared through the wolf’s stomach, and in a morbid display of violence, the hand clenched inside and then pulled through the gaping wound.

Anonyma would have known it was over for the wolf by then. There would be no recovering from a fatality like that and she probably didn’t want to watch what was going to continue next. She already knew what Remsing would be up to, and there was really no need for her to look as the white demon painted himself red. The sounds were already bad enough.

[Forsaken]

Anonyma walked away from the scene of her crime, which was much cleaner than that of the ghoul. A quick death and a single pool of blood compared to the Jackson Pollock canvas Remsing was re-creating in the snow. With blood. And a screaming victim. 

At least there were traces of her own blood on the muzzle of the wolf she killed. That would lend credence to their story of being attacked first. It was practically intentional, what had happened. Not a wound, but a clever alibi. Chasing the young one away from the slaughter was also to their benefit when these crimes came to light. Someone had to keep the two of them out of trouble. 

The sounds of prolonged slaughter and Remsing's slow feasting started to wear on her nerves quickly. She didn't want to think about what he could do with those claws when he wound up wrapping them around some part of her at some point at least once daily. It was already giving her a serious case of the heebie jeebies; she shuddered dramatically, then ambled over to her nearby pile of things to find something she could use to block her hearing. And something else to cleanse the taste of wolf blood from her mouth. 

She shifted back into a human person and dug out a pair of oversized fluffy earmuffs to stick on her head and block out the noise. In the same pocket, she had packed some smoked fish for herself and a small amount of water. While she was at it, she dug out a few long strips of cloth to clean and bind the gash in her throat, and even found a rust-colored scarf to hide the whole mess from view. Rust seemed to be her color of choice now. She didn't have to guess three times to figure out why that was. 

Anyway, with her fluffy earmuffs and scarf now in place and her more urgent needs cared for, she curled up in the currently too-large cloak and ate the fish she had in a rather finicky way. Remsing had done no favors for her appetite, but even she had to eat. They probably wouldn't get another break before they reached the city, or while they were within it. 

The slaughter of the wolf kin had just become a rather disturbing picnic for two, out on the icey wasteland. 

[Seven]

Remsing was too absorbed in his own affairs to pay much mind to what Anonyma was or wasn’t doing. His indifference may have seemed cruel, especially knowing his cohort was injured, but he did not view it in this manner. Anonyma was skilled as an adventurer; no small wound was going to bring her down. She could easily tend to it to herself, and moreso, she didn’t like Remsing getting too close to her while so much as sporting cuts, much less injured—hands covered in crimson, he could hardly imagine why.



Soon enough he smelled the anomalous scent of fish on the scene of the crime, and recognized that she had also was taking a break to eat. It was difficult to say if the speed of his consumption was out of a desire to finish quickly for her sake or his own desire to gorge himself. With two fresh bodies lying in wait, he normally would have devoured them both, bones and all, but instead, he found his crazed eyes flicking between them. ‘Still plenty on this one only has the lousier parts left could just jump to the other one is her kill I probably should just eat the best parts since this undoubtedly grossing her out and oh god this what am I thinking?’



Unwittingly shivering with disgust—concerned about ridiculous sensibilities of all things--his lips coiled. Living all this time with the raccoon beast really was leaving a mark on him if he was worried about shame even in the slightest degree. He was going to have to get her back for that one, but for now, he moved on forcefully. He was going to eat them both. Entirely. It was rare enough that he had a chance to eat wolf. Not that it was super great—wolf was a little gamey to be honest, and he’d have much preferred if the victims had turned back into their other form. Being the same creature in actuality, the wolf-kin would have still been gamey in flavor, but at least a little more tender. Whatever. When they arrived at Manticore, it was going to be an all out feast. He was going to have to get a drop on a few humans and—who knows?—maybe he’d even get a bite out of some Guardian again! He didn’t know if it was just their old master in particular, or all Guardians, but he had had such an unusual taste. He’d only gotten one bite, but that strange flavor had almost been nostalgic. Though he was not prone to make the comparison, to himself he couldn’t deny the flavor of licking one’s own wounds.



Remsing ground down a bone thinking about that one, lost in his own thoughts. He blinked, realizing he was spacing off, looked down at the gnawed bone somewhat innocuously, then shook his head. Silly Remsing. He sucked the last of the marrow out before chucking it. Having forgotten all about his previous spite toward Anonyma, he ripped off a leg of the other body, then crouched down next to her, grinning boldly. It might have been charming once, but covered in red with eyes fully wide and a normally wild, spikey mane, he looked nothing less than manic, and probably just past crazed. “What? No picnic basket in your traveling horde of everything?”

[Forsaken]

Anonyma might not have been able to hear him coming, but since she'd been careful to keep him in her peripheral vision as she otherwise ignored him she still knew when he'd begun to head her way. There was just no way she would ever turn her back to him when he was cannibalizing other kin like that. After all, she was far more like them than she was different, and she had to look out for her own continued survival. She already knew too much about the sort of urges he had where she was concerned.

Shoving the last bit of fish she'd retrieved into her mouth, she straightened out of her indolent lean when he crouched next to her and slid the earmuffs down until they were resting on her shoulders.

"A picnic basket!" Anonyma snapped fingers, as though she were just remembering some very obvious thing. "I knew I'd forgotten something." If she was joking, she wasn't giving any tells. She stared at him then, for just a little too long, finally taking in the whole...picture. The wide wild eyes set in a body soaked with blood. No one ever got entirely used to being near a living horror story unless their survival instincts had begun to fail them, and hers never let her down. 

Finally, she settled on a simple incredulous expression. "Is this some sort of divine retribution for my sin of having dared ask you to wear something? If so, I owe you my sincerest apologies. It won't happen again." It would, though. It most definitely would. 

[Seven]

He shot her a sidelong look, easily fluctuating between amusement, disagreement, and then amusement again. It seemed he was happy enough as soon as he found retaliation or retort when it came to her. “Really? I’m merely getting ready for our Manticore debut. I mean, ‘bloodlust’ is a pretty classic fashion to the city, what with all our old friends there. Why don’t you give it a try?” he asked, thrusting out the leg toward her. Not that she was really going to take a bite—not that he would have let her have something he claimed as his meal—but it was about ready to drip over her, and the thought of her being covered in about as much “horror story” aesthetic as him was just as appealing as the thought of her obvious discomfort.

[Forsaken]

Anonyma leaned out of range of his gruesome offering with practiced nonchalance and deftly pushed the leg aside so that it dripped onto the snow and not onto her cloak. She didn't want to have to wear the bloody remnants of his meal for the rest of their outing. The delicate placement of her dark fingers on the clean bits of fur hinted at the squeamishness that she otherwise hid expertly.

"You know wolf isn't to my taste." She reminded him, frowning slightly as though disappointed in how he was always forgetting. Then her iced eyes lit up within their inky mask. "But if we run into any fish or amphibian kin-" She lifted her free hand and folded it into the shape of a gun, aiming it right between Remsing's eyes when she made the iconic clicking noise of a cocked gun "their number is up." The smile she gave him was sharp, revealing the tips of her incisors.

It was a lot of fierce posturing for an incredibly unlikely scenario. There were no such people in this winter world. Not that they'd ever met, anyway. 

[Seven]

As Anonyma postured, promising death threats and meals, Remsing folded himself over his legs, propping his chin up in his hand. It was just for a moment—a moment where the broad grin fell to a more human seeming close-lipped smile and his eyelids fell to half-mast—but he actually seemed fondly mesmerized by the thought. The raccoon beast covered in gore,  wild, maniac features enchanting her person.  He might have realized himself, for he immediately after straightened, all touch of wistful sighs evaporating as he did. He readily resumed his taunting grin, scoffing and then laughing in his nasal tone. “Ha! That’d be the day—I’d pay to see that! And maybe—maybe I’ll wear pants!” His back curled as he held his sides, clucking laughter.



Remsing rolled back up into a straightened position, baring feral grin at her. He closed his eyes, touched his right hand over his heart--slab of meat still in hand--and he condescended at her. “You know, I do appreciate your attempts to, you know, not freak out. But I get it. You’re not an apex predator like me. You don’t have to posture so much, I know it’s nature and whatever. You simply can’t compete with me.” He opened his eyes, smiling again as if to demonstrate how benign he was being again. His hopeful smile seemed to enunciate, ‘Look how understanding and nice I can be! Surely this true! This is how you nice, isn’t it?’ “I’m really being very understanding here. You should commend me.”

[Forsaken]

Well, would you look at that; Remsing seemed so charmed by her small tale of how she'd be the scourge of fish folk everywhere that she wished she could show him. The were only two problems. The first being that there was no such population in the first place, and the second being that even she thought it unlikely she could match his enthusiasm for killing and devouring. She'd feel tempted to kill and eat a fish person, but in practice her instincts were very particular and were unlikely to sway her toward killing something humanoid for anything less than self defense. 

Nonetheless, she wasn't unaffected by their long life together either. Being the partner of this ghoul made her want to be more violent. In truth, she had become a far stronger, more vicious creature for his presence in her life. 

When he mentioned pants, she gave him a skeptical look, knowing damn well it was promise he wouldn't keep. As for the rest of it...

"Apex predators might seem tough, but they crumble when their environment changes." She grumbled, putting her hands back down by her sides and leaning back on them. "Being a scavenger might not be as glorious, but if there is one thing we do know it's how to be resourceful and survive." There was no mistaking the aggrieved pride in her tone. For all the truth in that statement, it seemed only the scavengers themselves could recognize it. There was just no glory in knowing how to find and take things. It just annoyed people. 

Then she turned and dug a large towel out of another pocket before turning back to Remsing. "Here, since you've been so thoughtful, allow me to repay your kindness." She flashed him a feral grin and lunged for him, brandishing the towel like a net. They still had places to be when he was done here, and she was determined to get all that blood off of him. That, and the chill was starting to sink in. She didn't want to sit here much longer, and part of her was worried about how cold he must be getting when he'd soaked himself like that. 

[Seven]

His face grew solemn as Anonyma contradicted him. Remsing had a fair few thoughts on that whole matter she brought up--predator versus scavengers, as the pair so clearly defined--and he wasn’t sure if his feelings about her retort were irritation, anger and annoyance, or just desire for… scholarly debate? …Was he even capable of ‘scholarly debate?’ Something inside him insisted that the excessive wildness in him had been a deliberate choice, but that he still retained every right to sit at the table of learned, near aristocratic faction leaders.



In fact, something did flash rather familiarly as his mind moved quickly through a linking chain of thoughts. The predator’s right to pride over the scavenger’s; the question of if survival is always more important than freedom of will and power; ‘Is it better to be a king amongst men or a servant to the gods?’ and then suddenly: You can’t tell me that it would be better to be rolling in the dirt down there just because you could lord it over all the other fleshbags!



Now that was weird. Maybe this was more of what Loony-Coon had babbled in waking from dreams, and he’d forgotten. Oh hell, her crazy had better not be rubbing off on him! In fact, that in itself was a perfectly valid point--she was crazy, invalidating everything she said and--



“Gah! You loony raccoon, what the hell--” Unprepared and lost in thoughts, she knocked him onto his back when she lunged for him. He was left half-flailing in confusion while she attacked him with “clean up,” and he looked about as pleased as a cat slowly descending toward a tub of water. Once the towel forcefully brushed over his face did he realize, but he still glared at her, just as ornery as said freshly bathed cat. “Knock that off!” he huffed, and though he was tempted to forcefully smack the towel out of her hands, in action he withheld, merely brushing her attentions away. “I can get it--” He growled. Aw jeez, that had been some great blood she’d wasted! “--stopit. I can get it myself.”



He pushed himself up from under her pin, still glowering and apparently deeply offended. What was odd was that he puffed out his chest as if to make himself bigger… without actually making himself bigger, like he could’ve. She’d already gotten the blood off of most of him, and there was very little for him to actually ‘get himself,’ but he continued to eye her pseudo-mistrustfully. “I will destroy everything,” he grumbled, his puffiness now relating petulance rather than any hope of intimidation it might have done earlier. Then, he licked off the small remainder of blood still left on his right arm, the long, slick tongue more than adept of rending him white again. And then, still uncertain what he was feeling now, he muttered just beneath his breath, “You could have ‘survived’ just fine in Manticore--you needed me to get out.”

[Forsaken]

Turnabout being fair play, Anonyma was quite pleased to have managed to pin him now in much the same way he'd pinned her earlier. The ghoul's expressions of discontent were just downright charming, and the feeling of knowing he was trapped in her grasp brought her as much pleasure as the fresh acquisition of a newly stolen bauble. She was so enamored with this feeling of possession that she would have taken her time with the task if she hadn't already known Remsing wouldn't stand for it. Instead, she had to rub him down hastily, trying to soak up all of the blood before he could stop her. 

She didn't quite make it, but at least she'd come close. When he pushed her away, she let herself tumble off of him like a playful cub and rolled to her feet so smoothly that it looked as though gravity must be flowing in the wrong direction. In response to his claim of impending destruction she only shrugged. It didn't matter much to her what he destroyed as long as she was out of his path when it happened, and she rarely ever doubted herself.

Speaking of survival...

"What if I had always wanted to be king of the wretches and you foiled my plans with your compelling, dastardly dreams of freedom?" It was obvious by the tone of laughter resonating through her words that this was only yet another meaningless jest. If she'd actually thought becoming the unspoken leader of the Forsaken was a legitimate life choice and was regretting her current life, she'd be anything but amused. Not that remaining among the Forsaken, a dog to the gods, would have been all that terrible a fate for her. She quite enjoyed trying to bend and break rules, to foil all locks keeping her out of guarded places, and there would have been much to keep her engaged and entertained while she was tethered. 

It was quite likely true that she'd never have gotten out without him, but not for lack of intelligence. Beyond her thievery and petty rule breaking, she'd never had much ambition. 

"You are right, though. Something about you in particular just made me want to run away from it all." There was an unspoken 'with you' in that line, but she'd intentionally made the phrasing so ambiguous that the statement became a somewhat backhanded attempt at expressing fondness. She had also implied in that same sentence that she'd wanted to run from him as well.  

The most backwards part about it was that both interpretations were true. 

[Seven]

Remsing paused grooming himself, his eyes flicking up at her. In them was a curious expression, still not exactly sure why the words struck him like they did. It was easy when they were fighting--he understood their standings with each other there just fine--but despite the potential combativeness of the statement, it didn't feel exactly like fighting. It felt... weird. She was weird. He was also weird undoubtedly, but she was the sort of weird that was worse because she masqueraded for sane and normal (as sane and normal as a man-sized, bear-sized raccoon thief could get) so well. Anyone who so much looked at Remsing would know that there was something definitely shifty there. Anonyma, not so much. She was undoubtedly the only reason they had ended up with sentry contacts in Wyvern. Remsing would have just tried to eat anyone who approached, sated or not. 

All those years ago it had been the right choice--leaving with her that is. He begrudged to admit it even to himself, but he probably would not have survived without her. It's not to say he couldn't have broken out his old master's hold, attacked him, then left Manticore--these things he was certain of his abilities for, and thus was sure he would've fared fine--but everything that came after? Maybe not. For someone who wanted to eat everyone, he was a surprisingly social being. If she hadn't been there, her cunning kicking him into shape, gaining them allies and the occasional job, what would have been the point? To leave Manticore and do what exactly in these frozen deserts? Feel proud and satisfied to show them all how he was stronger, better than anyone in that ridiculous city, and then waste away for lack of will to exist? Force himself to exist just so the idiots at Manticore couldn't turn that to their advantage and tell all the other little beasties, "See? This is what happens when you try to escape!" like some sort of bedtime story for monsters? He had turned these thoughts over before, in the solitary of his room. Sometimes he convinces himself that he hadn't needed her like she needed him, that if she hadn't been around, he could have just made off into the wild and from there decided to either restrain himself and join Wyvern or run back to Manticore and finish the job his vengeance had begun. But even if either had worked--both were arguably worthwhile--he couldn't convince himself it would have actually been better...

And more than that, Anonyma and him shared a sort of...peculiar friendship, he had to admit. Not that he was going to say that.

Rather than dwelling on her last statement that made him think odd things, he opted to backtrack to her previous one. Remsing put up a good face, haughty and cocky, kicking his nose up as he scoffed. He had a particular way of being rather loud when he was talking normally, as if his arrogance and his volume were positively correlated. So extra arrogance meant extra loudness. "Ha! I can tell you exactly what that was like! Forsaken King of Forsaken? Not all that great! I mean, it's better than just being a nobody Forsaken, but it gets real tiring being bossed around by incompetent idiots who won't even feed you right and then chastise you when you get your own food! Not to mention boring! Guardians are a real snore! They won't let you terrorize even a few humans--I mean, come on it was just a prank! And while stupid, brain-dead minions are fun for a little while they aren't really great for conversation! Nothing going on up there! So you're damn right your better off with me! In fact, I'd say you're amazingly lucky I took a shine to you!"