11-17-2018, 02:52 PM
| Wearing a crown now, truly does not imprison the beast within him. He answers the call of the hunger within. From the field he comes from, seeking the thrill of the hunt. The only thing that has ever given him life. The blood that fills him with life, the crush of bones that makes him stronger. He would always be a beast, a carnivore, a predator. The cold fills his bones to the brim, but the silence and death it brings ignites him. He is not a foreigner to the common lands of Beqanna, but at one point he had lived among these woods, calling them home before he found his way to Sylva. The hound does not forget his hunting grounds, and neither does he forget the fresh scent of a prey. Her scent blinds him with lust. A rage sometimes he cannot fully control. The hunger would always consume him. But he gives in so easily, so willingly. He can never deny the requests of her, his hunger. The hound follows the path, dusted by fresh snow, does not halt him there. The faint tracks of talons strike his interest, his curiosity lighting up wandering what sort of creature he was following. But his bloodlust pushes it out of his mind, quickly forgetting his own thoughts, his own chosen path. The hunger cares little for morals, principles, and rules. It only knows blood. He breaths in her exhale, tasting her scent, her breath, at the tip of her nose. Finding her under the large pine tree, a refuge that would not protect her so easily from the king of the forest. He prowls forward, paws firmly placing one another on the frozen ground. The beast does not hide, taking his time to circle around her and attack was forgotten. His instincts thrown out into the darkness. Blood is what he wanted. Hunger to fill. Who would stop him? “All alone,” he says with a pleasant smile. |
| angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils |
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Most likely always in his hellhound form