Iskvarren

It had been simple for him to infiltrate the odd little clan led by the funny nocturne. It only took a helpful word when warranted, a measure of patience when it came to dealing with the frivolous leader, and a practiced smile even if it showed far too many teeth. The ridgeback looked at him with suspicion the entire time. The others forgot that his eyes were red, however. So long as he fought for the clan when needed, he was given as many meals as he wanted and considered "one of ours" by the nocturne.



Then the young imperial arrived. Iskvarren liked the otherwise nameless Sir and found him a great source of entertainment. Sir wore a ridiculous mask most of the time. When it came off, the most rambunctious hatchlings in the lair vanished. He was inexperienced, and it was only a matter of time before he would be cast out for his appetite.

So Iskvarren taught him to hunt. A few of the vagabonds that sought shelter with the clan disappeared for their exercise, but none thought twice due to the constant flux of travelers. It was easy to convince the nocturne that their claws and teeth were stained with blood for any number of acceptable reasons.

As soon as Sir approached independence, Iskvarren's lessons ended. The fledgling became a pet who could be sent to do his bidding, a pet who obeyed his one confidant out of gratitude and fear, a pet who could ultimately be sacrificed if Hecate sensed any hint of wrongdoing.