for samael, the wastes. early evening. misery's in optime form.
[/html]
[html]
Something had possessed her to travel to the godforsaken territory. Maybe it was her own empty headed foolishness, but for a half crippled wolf the wastes were as unpleasant as it got. Misery had been careful to only walk along the very southern strip - the scent of coyotes was heavy, and she knew well enough to avoid them. If Inferni still stood, they would tear an old wolf apart with a cheery kind of glee. They reminded her of home. Outsiders were to be destroyed, only those in the family to be kept alive. Misery glared at a sharp rock that she had whacked her bad leg on and mentally wished she could have torn the lands apart. She couldn't fathom why the coyotes would want such treacherous terrain.
Misery had no problem with coyotes. Some wolves couldn't stand them - Misery couldn't have cared less either way. She'd gotten along well enough with the matriarch of souls former territory - she'd tattooed the old woman and found her darkly beautiful. Ahren had sired a large litter with the woman, and her fondness of him extended to the coyotes and various half breeds. But being close was dangerous, and she knew it was probably best to turn back towards Anathema soon. She'd killed a man with her walking stick before, but that had been many years ago. The slick black cane in her hand was planted firmly as she turned, ready to walk away from the wastes. It had been a fugacious trip, but a worthwhile one.
[/html]
[html]
<style type="text/css">
.mtree {width:400px; font-family:verdana; background-color:#F3EDE6; border: 1px solid #000;}
.mtree2 {padding:10px; color:#062431; line-height:15px; text-align:justify; font-size:11px;}
.mtree i {color:#436D80; font-family:georgia;}
.mtree b {color:#5F7C81; font-family:georgia;}
.mtree p {text-indent:39px; margin:0px;}
</style>[/html]
Wolves were worthless. They were less than wicked—they were nothing. Even so, few creatures held worth in his eyes. Kaena was one. He was another. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt respect or affection for any other living creature. Halo had held potential, but in the end everything broke apart. He was meant to destroy himself as much as he was destined to destroy the world. He was intended to combust.
The terrain was rocky and jagged, just as he preferred it. He couldn’t stand the forest with all of its trees, veiling demons within every shadow, and he couldn’t stand anything remnant of humanity. He needed to be able to see. Perhaps it was his time in the desert that had instilled such a bizarre claustrophobia within him. Wide, open expanses of wilderness had become his home—the gold of his pelt easily camouflaging against sand and low brush.
Were the area devoid of snow the white she-wolf would have contrasted sharply with the landscape. Even so, he froze when he saw her, watching cautiously, curiously with bloodred eyes.
If Misery had not been such a friend of chaos and decay, she would have been frightened by his appearance. Skeletal and ragged, he looked as if hell had swallowed him whole and rejected him for his wicked deeds. But there was something familiar about her and even if most things about her were failing, she could pick out the red chaos star on his shoulder. The female remembered giving that very marking to another creature - the matriarch of Inferni, Kaena Lykoi. Misery had rounded out some, but she was still too thing. Her eyes took him in with quiet interest before she began to speak.
"Are you a Lykoi? I once tattooed that symbol on Kaena." If he was, he'd know Kaena. If not it was a meaningless name to him. The design had been rather unique, and she knew from rumors that Kaena had a large brood beneath her. It seemed kismet deemed that Kaena alone would keep the coyote population strong. The ghostly female was fond of the coyote queen - who wouldn't be held in quiet thrall by the aged warrior queen?
[/html]
[html]
<style type="text/css">
.mtree {width:400px; font-family:verdana; background-color:#F3EDE6; border: 1px solid #000;}
.mtree2 {padding:10px; color:#062431; line-height:15px; text-align:justify; font-size:11px;}
.mtree i {color:#436D80; font-family:georgia;}
.mtree b {color:#5F7C81; font-family:georgia;}
.mtree p {text-indent:39px; margin:0px;}
</style>[/html]
The prince of fear was not afraid of death or pain. He was afraid of no living soul. But irrational things caused anxiety to creep up his spine, clawing at his consciousness and allowing no room for sleep or rest. He never slept for more than a few minutes at a time. It had been a very long time since he’d closed his eyes and willingly sunk fully into oblivion. He didn’t dream. He didn’t sleep. While awake wraiths crept into his vision, touching him and raking nails along his flesh like the gentle caress of the wind through his hair.
Perpetually, he was seemingly on the edge of an adrenaline rush, ready to strike out and murder anything in sight. But he remained outwardly composed. He was the predator, and a single show of anything faltering would draw the hounds of hell to his throat, tearing him to shreds. The she-wolf spoke, speaking a name that immediately captured his interest. Deadpan face, the unexpected shock of such familiarity from such a creature left him momentarily uncertain how to regard her.
“I am,” he returned, yet unmoving from where he stood, stock-still. “Who are you?”
Misery tended to bedaub her speech at the worst of times. Sometimes she spoke too much for her own good, and it had gotten her into terrible trouble more than once. But this creature seemed as if he would not be the most interested in rambling speech or pointless chatter. "Misery D'Angelo." The female idly clutched her cane, leaning her weight on it as she studied the male. She had once looked like him, thin to the point of wasting away, terrible and somehow beautiful despite it all. But that had been after Damian had been lost to the pyre and her reason and hope had blinked out of existence. "You look like death is right on your heels. But you're beautiful too. Like your mother." Sometimes words just spilled out, strange and nonsensical. But she'd always felt drawn to the Lykoi's for some reason, even if her meetings with them had always been brief, seemingly unimportant encounters.
<style type="text/css">.samartt1 b {font-family:verdana; font-size:11px; color:#800000; text-shadow: none;} .samartt1 p { padding: 0px; margin: 0px; text-indent:35px; }</style>
http://wolf.sleepyglow.net/crow/samarttab3.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-position:top; background-color: #000000; margin:0 auto; border-radius:20px; -moz-border-radius:20px 0px 20px 0px; -webkit-border-radius:20px 0px 20px 0px;">
he's in lupus form, btw~
He couldn’t claim that he knew the complete origin of the crimson star that was their family symbol. More than likely he’d been told somewhere along the line, but his memory had always been filled with darkness and unexplained gaps of awareness. Too many souls possessed his body. Too many lives were being lead within a single corpse, seemingly animated solely by some infernal, unexplainable willpower. When he wasn’t Samael, he was a plethora of other demons, drifting along just as he was. Misery was the woman’s name. He felt the edges of his mouth twitch, as though daring to smile.
She herself looked as though she’d lead a life not without its own challenges and sorrows. Scarred and thin, snowy white, her eyes were a sickly green that he couldn’t help but admire. He seated himself then on skeletal haunches, patient as a dog in the wasteland—ever watching her with eyes the color of bloodshed. She knew his mother. He had time to converse. “How did you come to know my mother?” he asked.
Sorry for delay! And zomg, pretty table! and this is stupid short :|
In Character
The first time she had met Kaena had been five years ago. The female had been heading out of Chimera, and Misery had intercepted her. Those had been the days when she had been agile and constantly patrolling the borders. Back in the days when she had been far from abstemious. "I met her in the old lands, in Chimera. I was close to Ahren de le Poer, he was like a son to me, so I knew vaguely of her. She was there looking for Corona, and I knew the girl well. We spoke and I gave her the tattoo."
Demons were a familiar concept to the D'Angelo matriarch. Tak was the father of demons, the Lord of the Dark. His power was great and he possessed many creatures. Once she had felt his cool hand around her neck and she'd killed a man when Tak's cold power had seized her. Adder Acidic had paid the price of being close to her.
table by alaki, coding by sie
[/html]
[html]
<style>.Freebie001 p {padding:0px 10px 10px 10px; margin:0px; text-indent:30px;}</style>[/html]
The surname spoken and the man named was the father of his elder siblings. Corona was a creature that he hadn’t come across in what felt like a lifetime. The names were ancient, stirring memories that felt buried beneath a heavy mire. Everything was blurred around the edges, lost and forgotten as he aged and decayed. How many lives had he lived since then? How many lifetimes had he crossed since those days were present? A sudden weariness was invoked. The mentally ill—or, in Samael’s eyes, the damned—were never meant to live long. The burden of their own mind eventually wore them down into the dirt. Soon, he’d lose himself to the chaos. The star branded into his flesh was perfection.
He grinned a mad, Lykoi grin then. “Another life, another time,” he said. Perhaps he too was the relic of a time long since passed. “How many have you lived since then?” Was his time finally running out? Was she here to remind him that his corpse would eventually stiffen and cease all movement? There was a sudden tremor that passed along his spine, imperceptible to any outward gaze. Fear of death again clawed at the inside of his mind with ragged, dagger-like nails. Oh, how he longed for the angel’s welcoming embrace, reminding him that he was simply coming home.
