Neverwinter Forest a soul denied

Sinaaq was quite used to, and preferred his own company over the company of others: with the few exceptions of Adlartok, Solia — though thinking of the Saturnin girl was particularly painful for the darkling whom had realized he's held quite a bit of romantic affection for her (this was not unexpected for he was still a hot blooded male; simply unexpected) — and the recent addition of Quicksilver. There was no sense in denying that while easily annoyed by his companion that he enjoyed his company nevertheless, only because if he hadn't enjoyed the other males company the darkling would've told him to get lost after their first day spent in one another's presence. He did not tolerate well and did not bother to make any sort of effort otherwise if his intuition told him that it would never work. Thus far his intuition had not steered him wrong.

Whether Sinaaq recognized the other's presence first by sound or by scent it did not matter; the fact remained the same: the darkling was no longer alone in the Neverwinter Forest. Cinnamon and rust dusted hackles bristled in annoyance at having been intruded upon in this assumed place of refuge for him. In reality, it was no such thing to the wretched creature but Sin could not bring himself to care. While he lingered within its unclaimed tomb-like coniferous trees it was his never mind how temporary. The bark of the other male echoed, gratingly in the darkling's skull and his lips curled black and clear disdain as he turned to face the golden creature before him, having packed as much sarcasm in the movement as he could.

Eyes of liquid gold studied the golden male before him with disinterest. Sinaaq had been aware of the other's presents before his verbal announcement had broken through the silence. His scent had assaulted the darkling's senses just as much is the noise the other's steps on the snow dusted earthen floor had. A breath was drawn in, tasting, tasting the tang of the heavy pine forest that hung in the air, refreshing though it was, and the scent of the loner before him. "Was?" The darkling inquired in the guttural language that is dark priestess had taught to him when he was not but a small child. "What is it that you want?" Sinaaq demanded in English this time, accented by his Germanic accent, brow rising into a wicked arch in an expectant manner over his right eye; eyes harsh and ardent.

Like the seventh circle of hell in Dante's Inferno Sinaaq felt frozen inside, devoid of most emotion as he felt most days. His eyes were warmly colored but chilling and cutting to the bone — a mask the darkling had perfected over the months that had tapered slowly and achingly by toward the year mark. Forgiveness was not in the deadly creature's nature and there was a part of Sinaaq that would never, no matter how strangely and fiercely he loves the child, forgive Adlartok for stealing Frigga's life force so that he may live in her stead.

Tucking away thoughts of the infection, as poisonous and precious as they were away he turned the fullness of his attention upon the other male: waiting.