[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]

A LOVE FOR THE DEAD

emotionless eyes fell on the ardent. tail curling about her paws as she took this news in stride. she was pregnant and vale abandoned her? vey would owe her. blinking, she looked to those promoted and simply nodded. her swollen belly shifting a moment as she stood again. ready to leave if not needed.

"speech"

So Vale was gone. Not that he particularly cared what happened to vem or Olalla or any of the people that were gathered here today. If anything, he found the situation awfully amusing. So the ex-Ardent abandoned the Pitt again? He certainly wasn't there for the first time, but if he were in Olalla's shoes, he wouldn't have given a deserter a second chance. Muerto en el acto, he thought. Dead on the spot if he ever saw vem again. Of course, that were if he just so happened to be named Olalla. Personally, he couldn't give less of a shit about this whole situation. He just appreciated the newfound vacancy. A bigger tree to climb, he supposed.

What he found most intriguing was the irony of it all. His ears twitched at his name being called, labeling him the Pitt's Councilman of Relations. He couldn't say no, of course. He had gotten the taste of power within the clan, and he found himself thirsting for more. Like Vale, though, he was a bit of a shade — a phantom maneuvering his ghostly form in and out of the camp, spending long days away from the Pitt if he could on his own personal ventures. Bloody ones, at that. He was proving himself to the mercenary world and to the Pitt simultaneously, and the latter seemed to have gained his trust and respect, seeing as he had ascended to this new position that Olalla boasted about. The former was not so trusting. There was a dire need for fleet-footed, silver-tongued, bloody-pawed specialists, and he needed heads of a greater caliber, a much higher level of prestige, to scale the mercenary ladder.

To be promoted to Councilman of Relations? To sit at the table with these expensive heads? Now that was something he couldn't pass up.

He had swallowed his previous apprehension of hunting, which had been burdening him dearly. Since striking a deal with the fiery blacksmith for a new set of hidden blades, he found great success (and greater confidence) in his expeditions. To keep the ever-bothersome nightmares at bay, he opted to skip slumber only for when he was incapable of physical function. He was often successful in disguising this, though his bloodshot eyes occasionally betrayed his mask. Still, he felt more like himself lately, and it seemed as though Lady Luck was rewarding him for it. "I accept."

The horned jaguar's rich golden gaze flickered over to a new face — Imperialhymns, was it? — who spoke about a potential exile for Vale. He had just been thinking the same thing. He had no doubts that Vale would not be able to climb the ranks as quickly as vey did when vey had returned to the Pitt under Olalla's reign, but there was no harm in having peace of mind for himself. As little competition as possible. "If I were you, I would say vey're out of chances to return," the feline said, fixating himself upon the kolpa before him. "Defectors have no place here." Strong words from a man that would easily disappear on the spot or slaughter every single being around him if it meant the fortune of a lifetime.