For Shaw, for Shaw xD
So there apparently was a new pack in Nova Scotia. Well, actually, there were two, but Strelein could not give a rats ass about the newest one. Cave dwellers, how archaic. He had heard that a pack for artists had formed and the redhead had instantly perked his ears to it and mentions of it. It was hard to miss; people were leaving Cours des Miracles to head to Cercatori d'Arte. It was not hard to see why; Cours was a court and Cercatori was a studio. Artistic talent was the focus there rather than the make up of a court here. Regardless, Strel cursed at the timing of all this; people were leaving and Strel was sorely tempted, just because there seemed to be less of a court feeling to the pack now. Oh how tempted he was. But he knew that to leave it would be a slap in the face of Vigilante, and he needed to be sure he could live with the choice. He had to go see what this pack was and how it ran. It was high time too, since it had been around long enough to be established properly. He could call it a scouting mission.
He took with him a peace offering of sorts, a welcoming gift; a bolt of fine fabric, shimmery and silky smooth. There had to be some kind of tailor in that pack that could use it to get started. Strel had no help when he started, but who knew, maybe he would be helping someone else. Maybe. Thankfully, Cercatori was not far from Cours, just a hop over the Ethereal Eclipse and then he would be on the borders. He doubted they had many militaristic aspects at all in the pack of artists. But he was not threatening. He was just here to talk. Really. He really hoped that there was nothing more to this pack and that he would not be tempted away from Cours. He had been there for two years that upcoming summer. How could he leave now, even if it had all changed so much in so short a time?
Pausing at the borders, as he had a habit of doing, Strel just kind of waited. He was never good at this. Once he knew people in a pack, he tended to just waltz right in and just look for them, and explain to a passerby that he was visiting so and so and they would vouch for him and his creditability. But here, he knew no one. Well he knew a couple of people, but he had not been close to them and they were the ones who had left Cours des Miracles of their own will. Maybe a howl? Strelein raised his maw a bit and let out a short call, asking for a leader of sorts to come. He did not mention his motives though. Hopefully that would not make things more difficult. He was not in the mood for a fight or anything of the sort; he would probably lose and lose soundly. But these were artists. Artists did not fight. Well. Unless they were artists in their military tact. Oh god, that would be bad. So bad.
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