01-06-2010, 08:42 PM
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He’d found a decent enough weapon to exchange with Cotl for the tattoo he so desired and could not ink himself. He’d shown the male the torn page printed with the picture he’d found decent enough in the depths of an old, dusty, and half decayed book in the city, and gathered up the light-weight weapon from his storage of possessions locked away in the shadows of a building. For a long time he’d collected things—knives, swords, scalpels, cages for small animals, and small animals within, all dead by “experiments” performed at his own hand. Books and various liquors also found residence within rotting boxes, but all of these material possessions meant little to the beast. They were merely interesting things, and he cared less if the building burned down or not while he was away. The sword he’d picked out was a katana of decent make, with a three-clawed, Japanese dragon painted on the side of the blade.
Samael was the biblical crimson dragon—the serpent-king, so it seemed a perfect gift to the male, with an obvious indication of who’d granted it marked permanently right there on the steel. His own dragon was of the winged, western variety, but regardless a dragon was a dragon despite the origin of culture and aspects of its nature. He entered the mansion with the sheathed blade held at his side, moving up the stairs toward the room that smelled most like the hybrid male. Clawed hand formed a fist and rapped sharply on the door, searching for the creature to finalize their deal and grant Samael the physical mark of the serpent beast boldly across the flesh of his back.
He’d found a decent enough weapon to exchange with Cotl for the tattoo he so desired and could not ink himself. He’d shown the male the torn page printed with the picture he’d found decent enough in the depths of an old, dusty, and half decayed book in the city, and gathered up the light-weight weapon from his storage of possessions locked away in the shadows of a building. For a long time he’d collected things—knives, swords, scalpels, cages for small animals, and small animals within, all dead by “experiments” performed at his own hand. Books and various liquors also found residence within rotting boxes, but all of these material possessions meant little to the beast. They were merely interesting things, and he cared less if the building burned down or not while he was away. The sword he’d picked out was a katana of decent make, with a three-clawed, Japanese dragon painted on the side of the blade.
Samael was the biblical crimson dragon—the serpent-king, so it seemed a perfect gift to the male, with an obvious indication of who’d granted it marked permanently right there on the steel. His own dragon was of the winged, western variety, but regardless a dragon was a dragon despite the origin of culture and aspects of its nature. He entered the mansion with the sheathed blade held at his side, moving up the stairs toward the room that smelled most like the hybrid male. Clawed hand formed a fist and rapped sharply on the door, searching for the creature to finalize their deal and grant Samael the physical mark of the serpent beast boldly across the flesh of his back.