05-21-2010, 08:01 AM
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Even if the meaning of a name didn’t suit the soul it was attached to, over time it became a part of that soul, ingraining into the very fiber of it. Even if one changed that name later, always, that title would remain an integral part of who they were no matter how they tried to run from it. Simply calling out to one using their name was an expression of this power, causing the other to desire to lift their head and seek out who’d called, becoming a slave to their whim. When one lost their name a part of their being became lost as well, feeling hollow and forsaken until that information was regained. Arakiel would remain close to his heart, and to wolves and other scum he’d be something even less—something spur of the moment intentionally created to deceive them. None would learn to hold power over him, he would ensure. “Even so, the power remains,” he said, calmly assuring her of his beliefs. Even if she denied this he wouldn’t press further. It was her choice whether or not to take his word for it, and he knew this.
“You don’t like Samael,” he guessed, stating it as a fact rather than a question. It was obvious in her distaste for him based on appearance alone, and in the way her eyes roved across his form, taking in the similarities between him and his sire. He had been cruel to her, he assumed, learning from her words and the subtle accusations hidden there. Mkhai wouldn’t push further, for he’d learned all that he’d needed to know. He didn’t need to know the explicit details of the crimes that his father had committed despite any burning curiosity. Too much desire without learning his place would lead him into trouble and cause him to look foolish, which he couldn’t have. “He is with my mother, being looked after as though he deserved it.” Mkhai’s own distaste was present in the gentle venom tainting his words, for he saw the man as being weak, not all-powerful.
A devil didn’t bleed, yet Samael had been soaked in blood when he’d first met the man who’d sired him. He wanted a great demon to have fathered him, not a mortal man drowning in delusion. She could take what she wanted from him, but he’d do the same in return, draining her like a vampire’s victim for information without her knowledge even. His expression remained friendly, open and welcoming toward the girl. She’d not learn the darker aspects of his nature until circumstance called for it.
Even if the meaning of a name didn’t suit the soul it was attached to, over time it became a part of that soul, ingraining into the very fiber of it. Even if one changed that name later, always, that title would remain an integral part of who they were no matter how they tried to run from it. Simply calling out to one using their name was an expression of this power, causing the other to desire to lift their head and seek out who’d called, becoming a slave to their whim. When one lost their name a part of their being became lost as well, feeling hollow and forsaken until that information was regained. Arakiel would remain close to his heart, and to wolves and other scum he’d be something even less—something spur of the moment intentionally created to deceive them. None would learn to hold power over him, he would ensure. “Even so, the power remains,” he said, calmly assuring her of his beliefs. Even if she denied this he wouldn’t press further. It was her choice whether or not to take his word for it, and he knew this.
“You don’t like Samael,” he guessed, stating it as a fact rather than a question. It was obvious in her distaste for him based on appearance alone, and in the way her eyes roved across his form, taking in the similarities between him and his sire. He had been cruel to her, he assumed, learning from her words and the subtle accusations hidden there. Mkhai wouldn’t push further, for he’d learned all that he’d needed to know. He didn’t need to know the explicit details of the crimes that his father had committed despite any burning curiosity. Too much desire without learning his place would lead him into trouble and cause him to look foolish, which he couldn’t have. “He is with my mother, being looked after as though he deserved it.” Mkhai’s own distaste was present in the gentle venom tainting his words, for he saw the man as being weak, not all-powerful.
A devil didn’t bleed, yet Samael had been soaked in blood when he’d first met the man who’d sired him. He wanted a great demon to have fathered him, not a mortal man drowning in delusion. She could take what she wanted from him, but he’d do the same in return, draining her like a vampire’s victim for information without her knowledge even. His expression remained friendly, open and welcoming toward the girl. She’d not learn the darker aspects of his nature until circumstance called for it.