Seasons don't fear the reaper

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Caligula remembered only blood.  There had been a battle in the pouring rain, wolves slipping and sliding in the muck below.  There had been terror in the eyes of many, but Caligula had only surrounded himself with the most steely of soldiers.  They had moved swiftly through the field, sneaking up behind their weakened opponents.  He recalled a blurry figure rushing towards him in his peripheral.. and then things simply went black.

There was evidence of his battle scattered among his pelt.  Coagulated blood clung to him from wounds that had long since healed, strangely, and he noticed tufts of fur that were not his own.  How he had ended up in this ghastly place completely healed he would never know, but the beast knew he hadn't a moment to spare.  Wherever he was, however he'd gotten there -- it didn't matter.  The only thing that mattered was thriving, rebuilding.  He would work his paws to the bone to establish what he had lost.

The mist was a welcomed companion.  Light as he was, Cal blended in seamlessly with the wispy air as it danced around him.  Perfect camouflage should he have needed it, but there was no reason to believe enemies were laying in wait.  He moved slowly, cautiously, only pausing when he caught the scent of another.  Male.  

"Salve," he called, tattered ears swinging atop his head to pinpoint the others location. Assuming, of course, the other wolf was even real to begin with.  Would've been a bit awkward otherwise

+1 Discovery Points

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It didn't take too long to locate the shadowed figure in a playground of white.  The phantom remained silent, simply staring from across the field as Caligula's single eye narrowed on the gargantuan form.  How interesting, he thought, to have found the devil himself so soon into his travels.  It wouldn't surprise him in the least to learn this place was hell, particularly with the way his wounds were healed but the blood still clung to his fur.  An eternal reminder of the lives he had taken, perhaps?  Was he made to suffer through eternity coated in the blood of innocents?

It didn't sound too terrible, if you asked him.  The innocents were only innocent because he had prevented them from growing older, morphing into the demented beasts like himself.  Caligula had saved those puppies by slaughtering them, whether their screaming mother knew it or not.  Perhaps it was their blood he was supposed to feel apologetic for, but he didn't.. and the mother had made a good fuck before he'd killed her as well.  He could feel her beneath him even now, and a delighted shudder ran down his spine.

The ghost stepped towards his Virgil, every sense trained on the man.  "Do you speak?" he inquired, coming to a halt several yards away.  How dull life would be if his guide to the underworld didn't speak with him.
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Ah, splendid, Virgil spoke.  He wondered why the creature had leered at him from afar instead of embracing his duties to lead the little Dante around hell, but no matter.  It was now clear the man could speak and had at least somewhat of an understanding about the current situation.  Well, hopefully.  Caligula was simply wishing at that point.

His eye watched the darker wolf with the intensity of what he was: a soldier, a murderer, a monster.  Strangely enough, Caligula thought he may have seen something similar behind the shadow's eyes as well.  Had he found a new monster to play with?  Oh, how delightful of a discovery!  

"To you, it seems.  I see no others around unless my senses have dulled." It wasn't spoken with anything other than a bland intrigue, really.  Caligula was curious to know whether or not there were others around and if not, what this man could do for him.  "Do you know the name of this place? I cannot remember how I came to be here." He frowned, bothered by it.
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Caligula's attention shifted from the monster to the area beyond, sweeping the misty scene with a critical eye.  How fascinating it was for such a turn of events to transpire, if they even were.  For all he knew, this was nothing but a fever dream brought on by an infected wound sustained in battle.  Perhaps it was purgatory, the cruel place of complete indifference, and this man was waiting to judge him based on their interactions.  Caligula knew himself to be damned, so he certainly hoped the other got on with it.  He had things to do -- possibly.  

"There are others," he murmured, wondering if any of them held the key to solving the great mystery.  Was it even worth attempting to figure it out?  According to the heathen before him, no.  It was only beneficial if he moved on, began anew.. but how did one with such a particular skill set find a new life? Caligula's frown deepened at the idea.  "I know little outside of bloodshed and war.  Point me in the direction of someone who knows the same." A bit of a test, he supposed, to see whether or not his senses had been correct about the wolf. 

Caligula watched as the man drew nearer and took it upon himself to fill in the rest of the space.  No need to yell, hm?  He admired the shadow immediately, felt a surge of lust he had not anticipated.  Hm, what a strange turn indeed.
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Supposedly, laughter was contagious.  One started laughing and before anyone realized it, the whole village was in a bout of hysteria for no discernable reason.  However, when the man before him began laughing uncontrollably in what could only be the most unholy noise he'd ever heard, Caligula didn't join in.  Maybe he was vaccinated against the giggling plague or perhaps he simply didn't understand what was so funny, but Cal's face remained blank.  Wonderful, he thought sarcastically, how he had managed to find the Joker seconds after waking.  What a lucky lad he was.

When the punchline was finally revealed, Caligula allowed his scarred lips to twist into some attempt at an amused grin -- although to be honest, he was doing nothing more than mirroring Vengeance.  "Do you have need of me?" the wolf asked rather passively, almost as though he were waiting to be dismissed.  If not, he would simply move on and find somewhere else to settle.  No biggie.
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[size=small]Caligula's gaze narrowed on the man as his.. episode came to a natural conclusion.  Wonderful.  The phantom was not one for giggling, but he supposed if he were about to sell his soul to the beast before him it would do some good to pretend.  If the lord wanted him to laugh at things, he would laugh.  Caligula thrived on discipline and having a structured lifestyle, so being blatantly told what to do settled well with him.  Thinking for himself was often bothersome, so he often allowed others to do it for him.  So far, it had worked.  Minus the eye, the ear and the body littered with scars, he had escaped unscathed.. well, alive. Alive counted more than anything.[/size]

[size=small]"My name is Caligula, a gene.. well, I suppose a former general of a militaristic pack.  I lead a squadron of wolves and oversaw the training of whelps." In addition, he'd also contributed some genetics to those pups as was expected of him.  The highest ranking bred the strongest women, produced the strongest soldiers -- it was only logic, wasn't it?  He hadn't complained once with his role in the scenario, even if occasionally he wondered which of the spawn were his.  The good ones, he told himself.  Only the good ones were his.[/size]

[size=small]He was unflinching in the approach of the other warmonger, though it did allow him a chance to study the dips and curves and scars a bit more carefully.  Interesting.  A big boi.  "How many do you lead?" Caligula's tongue ran along his yellowing teeth as he watched and waited, clearly intrigued.  What else could this man offer him?[/size]

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Well, a vote of confidence from his shiny new leader certainly didn't put a damper on his mood. It was bizarre how quickly he was able to align himself with a stranger, but at the end of the day, was only testament to how terribly powerless he was to make his own decisions. He craved purpose and he craved blood, and if highest bidder (or first man he saw) was able to provide him with both, he had no qualms in shacking up. "I hope so, my feelings are quite delicate." Caligula's scarred lips twisted into a smirk at the jest. Shiiit, he didn't care one bit whether or not he fit in and @Vengeance knew it. Still, thanks for the vote of confidence.

His tattered ear twitched as the lord relayed the numbers of his.. lackluster horde. Ah, well. "Just means there's space to build it as you see fit. Recruitment is not my strong suit, but I will certainly do what I can." It wasn't like people were throwing themselves at his feet for anything other than mercy; he wasn't a very approachable fellow. Caligula straightened up a bit, nodding. "May I know your name, now that I've sold you my soul?" And he was absolutely delighted about it.

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He listened as attentively as ever, noting the venom imbued title of half breeds with some indifference. It truly made no difference to him whether or not someone was pure wolf or not; if they could fight, they could fight. Caligula may have suggested castrating any hybrids that came along in order to utilize their fighting prowess but deprive them of passing on their genetics, but he refrained. No reason to seem like a sympathetic fool to the kind Vengeance liked the least. Instead, Caligula nodded to accept the terms.

"Warlord of the Nightwalkers," he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue with satisfaction. It was a name that instilled fear, he was certain, and Caligula couldn't help but be intrigued. "What are my orders then, Warlord?" the ghost asked, nearly crooning. The man was eager to get started on them, whatever they were.

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Well, at least his first duty wasn't terribly boring. Scouting wasn't necessarily his favorite, but it wasn't as though they were ready to wage war with their meager numbers. "As you wish," the specter replied with a dip of his head. With new purpose in store, Caligula turned to head the way his master bid him explore.

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