reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
Needing to have sated some amount of a bloodlust if only to keep his too sharp teeth locked behind his lips, Astaroth finds himself also in the woods of the Outer Brambles, having managed to snag a creature within the woods to drain and devour to take the edge off. It wouldn’t last, of course, but at the very least there would be no questions asked, no missing persons this far out in the wilderness of the Hollowed Grounds, no fingers pointing back at him.
So it’s with distraction and an attempt to get the slick warm blood from his hands that the butcher sparks the flame, letting the light cleanse the blood on his hands until they sluff away into ash, enough that he’s grateful for the dark hues he wears (always impeccably dressed). Tonight’s attire consists of a dark black, silken shirt, buttoned up to the top with an equally dark vest over it with embroidered floral designs in a shiny thread against the matte hue. Black slacks also accompany the look, but rather than choosing the wingtip shoes, the butcher has chosen boots for this occasion. As if he had a semblance of an idea he would be getting them dirty.
Evening blows through the branches, a chill to it that Astaroth already begins to loathe as he takes his trek back, coming upon a rather unique scene. The main forest trail with visitors meandering down the pathway, accompanied by the barks of canines and idle conversation. But something about the picture doesn’t fit, he realizes, as he spots Anahita’s dress stir with the next fluttering breeze through the branches.
Casually, he makes his trajectory toward her rather than heading back toward the Inner Quarter, drawn in by the gradient hue of very distinct horns atop her head. His own are pointed not unlike her own, hues of fire obsidian make up the two pronged antlers that curve back around his head from his temples, and a spaded tail that lashes in calculating movements. “Why, hello there.” Comes the deep accented hum of a greeting – far enough away to not startle her by his approach. He doesn’t recognize her, but being a centuries old Ancient having only reawakened a year ago now, he imagines he doesn’t know every single Ancient in Caido anymore.
Either way, Astaroth offers her a wide smile of greeting, polite and as gentle as can be for a man who’s had all of his teeth sharpened into points.
So it’s with distraction and an attempt to get the slick warm blood from his hands that the butcher sparks the flame, letting the light cleanse the blood on his hands until they sluff away into ash, enough that he’s grateful for the dark hues he wears (always impeccably dressed). Tonight’s attire consists of a dark black, silken shirt, buttoned up to the top with an equally dark vest over it with embroidered floral designs in a shiny thread against the matte hue. Black slacks also accompany the look, but rather than choosing the wingtip shoes, the butcher has chosen boots for this occasion. As if he had a semblance of an idea he would be getting them dirty.
Evening blows through the branches, a chill to it that Astaroth already begins to loathe as he takes his trek back, coming upon a rather unique scene. The main forest trail with visitors meandering down the pathway, accompanied by the barks of canines and idle conversation. But something about the picture doesn’t fit, he realizes, as he spots Anahita’s dress stir with the next fluttering breeze through the branches.
Casually, he makes his trajectory toward her rather than heading back toward the Inner Quarter, drawn in by the gradient hue of very distinct horns atop her head. His own are pointed not unlike her own, hues of fire obsidian make up the two pronged antlers that curve back around his head from his temples, and a spaded tail that lashes in calculating movements. “Why, hello there.” Comes the deep accented hum of a greeting – far enough away to not startle her by his approach. He doesn’t recognize her, but being a centuries old Ancient having only reawakened a year ago now, he imagines he doesn’t know every single Ancient in Caido anymore.
Either way, Astaroth offers her a wide smile of greeting, polite and as gentle as can be for a man who’s had all of his teeth sharpened into points.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
