07-30-2009, 08:24 PM
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Lips cracked into a grin, baring snow-white fangs pale as moonlight. This was a disciplined beast, confident in her abilities, yet not wishing to cross fangs where it was unnecessary. She further intrigued the cloaked man, allowing crimson eyes to drift slowly across her shadowy form. Despite her assumed ability to duel and defend herself, naturally the woman would hold back in this state, instinctually as a mother, protecting her children’s lives over even her own. The creature knew this, but he couldn’t say he fully understood such sentiment, never loving any of the bastard children he knew (and didn’t that) he’d fathered. Kaena was the only mortal whom he truly loved, and for her he’d trade his own life, but otherwise, he couldn’t care less about another living soul on this planet, whether a part of him or not. “Obviously you can’t accurately judge my talent until you’ve seen me in action,” the coyote purred, smooth as silk. “But won’t you please just make this little promise to a soul who honestly admires the warrior’s spirit?” And so he did, loving most of all to battle a true combatant, for such was the sheerest pleasure when his fangs finally met their mark, taking the life within the finest body. The warrior never backed down, taking death over dishonor, giving it all until their mortal shell finally failed them, dying in the one and only place where they would truly ever belong—on the battlefield.
From the moment Samael had been born he’d been trained, turned into a finely tuned killing machine until bloodshed and murder utterly consumed his soul and he knew nothing else. This woman and he were of two vastly different, yet similar mindsets in that they’d never fully be able to leave the battlefield behind, always ready to fight and defend themselves until the day they died. “It could be fun,” he continued, crimson eyes gleaming with barely concealed excitement. “Just a simple spar, nothing more,” and that would be enough to content him at first, testing her ability and deciding whether actual death would entertain him or not. If she wasn’t worth his time, there would be no point, like killing a rabbit and calling himself a champion. “Samael,” he answered, granting his title to the woman when she asked of his identity. But that was simply his mortal name, given at birth by his mother and prophesied beforehand by his sire. It did nothing to encompass who he truly was and everything about him, but that would have to do for now. Words alone could not impart who he truly was without sounding arrogant or irrelevant and he highly doubted the woman would be impressed or awed by any of his demonic titles.
Lips cracked into a grin, baring snow-white fangs pale as moonlight. This was a disciplined beast, confident in her abilities, yet not wishing to cross fangs where it was unnecessary. She further intrigued the cloaked man, allowing crimson eyes to drift slowly across her shadowy form. Despite her assumed ability to duel and defend herself, naturally the woman would hold back in this state, instinctually as a mother, protecting her children’s lives over even her own. The creature knew this, but he couldn’t say he fully understood such sentiment, never loving any of the bastard children he knew (and didn’t that) he’d fathered. Kaena was the only mortal whom he truly loved, and for her he’d trade his own life, but otherwise, he couldn’t care less about another living soul on this planet, whether a part of him or not. “Obviously you can’t accurately judge my talent until you’ve seen me in action,” the coyote purred, smooth as silk. “But won’t you please just make this little promise to a soul who honestly admires the warrior’s spirit?” And so he did, loving most of all to battle a true combatant, for such was the sheerest pleasure when his fangs finally met their mark, taking the life within the finest body. The warrior never backed down, taking death over dishonor, giving it all until their mortal shell finally failed them, dying in the one and only place where they would truly ever belong—on the battlefield.
From the moment Samael had been born he’d been trained, turned into a finely tuned killing machine until bloodshed and murder utterly consumed his soul and he knew nothing else. This woman and he were of two vastly different, yet similar mindsets in that they’d never fully be able to leave the battlefield behind, always ready to fight and defend themselves until the day they died. “It could be fun,” he continued, crimson eyes gleaming with barely concealed excitement. “Just a simple spar, nothing more,” and that would be enough to content him at first, testing her ability and deciding whether actual death would entertain him or not. If she wasn’t worth his time, there would be no point, like killing a rabbit and calling himself a champion. “Samael,” he answered, granting his title to the woman when she asked of his identity. But that was simply his mortal name, given at birth by his mother and prophesied beforehand by his sire. It did nothing to encompass who he truly was and everything about him, but that would have to do for now. Words alone could not impart who he truly was without sounding arrogant or irrelevant and he highly doubted the woman would be impressed or awed by any of his demonic titles.