07-24-2009, 09:31 AM
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It was the scent of blood that first attracted his notice. Like a shark in the water, the faint coppery tinge of blood on the air lured the coyote inexplicably onward, idly and lazily seeking the source. His pace was slow, as always veiled in his cloak to mask his scarred, mutilated face and appearance. He’d since cleaned up, bathing in a river and combing out his mane, but nothing could remove the scars from his flesh. Beneath them he was beautiful as no man was ever meant to be, with thin, perfect coyote features and a coat of pure gold and ebony. His eyes were a brilliant blood-red, as freshly spilled blood from an open wound. But this loveliness was marred by the pale, twisted scars across both sides of his face and wrapping up his arms and torso. His long hair hung loose, falling across his face and down his chest, aiding in the intentional shielding of his features as the hood pulled low over his eyes. Samael was vain, knowing his born beauty and disgusted at his own state of decay. A prince was not meant to hide himself, nor was he meant to be ugly and marred either. He still held himself in a royal, elegant manner otherwise, gliding smoothly across the sand and holding his movements to rather effeminate gestures.
It was a rather lovely woman that turned out to be the source of the blood, bleeding from a wound in her hind foot caused by the jagged, knife-like edge of a broken seashell. Tears stained her pale cheeks, an obvious sign of the pain radiating from her wound, and perhaps a little something more not quite so obvious. “It’s too lovely a day to cry,” said the Prince of Hell in his most charismatic manner, allowing the narrow muzzle that protruded from his mask to smile softly at the girl. “Do you need help?” he asked, his light tone filled with concern. But beneath the charming surface was madman, hidden eyes all filled with hatred and lust. This female was quite beautiful after all, with a coat rarely seen in their kind, leaving her like some rare, coveted jewel in the beast’s eyes. He smiled oh-so-elegantly, the proper deceiver as he aimed to gain some measure of trust from the dark-furred woman, seeing where it could lead him. She smelled distinctly of his half-brother, but that did not deter Samael in the least, for even if the woman was claimed by his older sibling, that did little to stop him from gaining what he wanted—especially on unclaimed, neutral land; the king’s reign only stretched so far.
It was the scent of blood that first attracted his notice. Like a shark in the water, the faint coppery tinge of blood on the air lured the coyote inexplicably onward, idly and lazily seeking the source. His pace was slow, as always veiled in his cloak to mask his scarred, mutilated face and appearance. He’d since cleaned up, bathing in a river and combing out his mane, but nothing could remove the scars from his flesh. Beneath them he was beautiful as no man was ever meant to be, with thin, perfect coyote features and a coat of pure gold and ebony. His eyes were a brilliant blood-red, as freshly spilled blood from an open wound. But this loveliness was marred by the pale, twisted scars across both sides of his face and wrapping up his arms and torso. His long hair hung loose, falling across his face and down his chest, aiding in the intentional shielding of his features as the hood pulled low over his eyes. Samael was vain, knowing his born beauty and disgusted at his own state of decay. A prince was not meant to hide himself, nor was he meant to be ugly and marred either. He still held himself in a royal, elegant manner otherwise, gliding smoothly across the sand and holding his movements to rather effeminate gestures.
It was a rather lovely woman that turned out to be the source of the blood, bleeding from a wound in her hind foot caused by the jagged, knife-like edge of a broken seashell. Tears stained her pale cheeks, an obvious sign of the pain radiating from her wound, and perhaps a little something more not quite so obvious. “It’s too lovely a day to cry,” said the Prince of Hell in his most charismatic manner, allowing the narrow muzzle that protruded from his mask to smile softly at the girl. “Do you need help?” he asked, his light tone filled with concern. But beneath the charming surface was madman, hidden eyes all filled with hatred and lust. This female was quite beautiful after all, with a coat rarely seen in their kind, leaving her like some rare, coveted jewel in the beast’s eyes. He smiled oh-so-elegantly, the proper deceiver as he aimed to gain some measure of trust from the dark-furred woman, seeing where it could lead him. She smelled distinctly of his half-brother, but that did not deter Samael in the least, for even if the woman was claimed by his older sibling, that did little to stop him from gaining what he wanted—especially on unclaimed, neutral land; the king’s reign only stretched so far.