"AND WHO MAY YOU BE, NEWCOMER?"

a bundle of silken, monochromous fur approaches you from the undergrowth's shadowy refuge. if you'd been any more startled you probably would've slapped his ears off. perhaps he took notice of your blatant disgruntledness; he seemed to be keeping himself a good fox-length away from you and your paws of doom. "forgive me, i am tor, king of the forgotten cyclone," the mystery wolf, now identified as tor, begins to explain himself, "you've wandered into my territory." you look him up and down, sizing him up under the assumption that he'd attack at any given moment. "please, none of that—i've no problem with benign passerby," tor's whiskers twitched in what could've been either amusement or subdued irritation. his tail swayed stiffly behind him as he spoke, "what i do take issue with, are those with malevolent intent." his expression contorted into a leer as the glint of golden eyes in the nearby shrubbery caught your attention. you were hit with the hackle-raising realization that you were nowhere near alone; your next move would be crucial to the future of your physical wellbeing. "will you harm or will you heal? friend or foe, interloper?"

welcome to the forgotten cyclone, home of the shrewd and mighty. what brings you to the ends of the earth?