Honeyed Pasture villain

@Drakonis

The afternoon sky was washed in the stormy grey he'd become accustomed to in winter moons - clouds hung like fog above the fields, breaths of frost sitting in anticipation for the birth of spring. A monster prowled amongst the frozen grass then, a smudge of dark silver slithering through the undergrowth and darting eyes of glacial beryl across the horizon - crimson stained his muzzle, pool of blood coating his incisors; the blood of a coyote, who's body had been shredded and left to rot some paces back.

Life was tough - to survive, you simply had to be tougher.

Aries had travelled enough to be familiar with the terrain, and there were few locations untouched by the demon's claws. The pastures surrounding the Weald had been mapped out into his skull, and he glided across the white sea as though he were simply a ghost, a dark figment of one's shadowed imagination - a nightmare, with a snaking tongue. His lips parted to allow movement, wiping the stains from his mouth before continuing on.

He much preferred the mystery of the woods.

His life was a void of uncertainty. He had no home, no goals. No idea where to go and what to do. No idea who he was anymore. His father had been his whole life, idolizing a man he had never known and basing his morals and values off that fantasy had created who he had been, a lie. Now he was a blank slate and he felt like one, a blank empty numb body. He was just drifting along when he smelled Carnage and found it in the form of a torn apart coyote, wolf scent all over it.

Curious he began to trail after the other wolf, keeping low in the frozen grass as he spotted a dark form ahead of him. Vivid blue eyes watched the male pause and clean the blood from his maw. Finally he stood up and moved silently toward the male though not directly. He didnt look harmed, not like he had brutally killed the coyote in defense. If anything the male looked deadly, calm and menacing as he licked away the traces of violence. Here was a killer, a murderer. "What does it do for you?" he asked bluntly. "The killing. Is it for fun? For pleasure?" he sounded genuinely interested, expressionless face giving nothing away. He wasn't judging, he wanted to know why. 

Unlike his poor half-sibling, the reaper knew exactly who and what he was: a starborn soldier, a killing machine, the whispered curses tempted from a frozen breath, the monster under the bed. He'd been raised with the devils, bred from the shadows, and he held himself with the coldest of demeanors - a gaze of pure ice adorned the scarred features, and it would be a challenge to meet his solemn eyes. 

He knew someone was following him. He didn't stop them.

The voice was unfamiliar, but so were many - the Svartell cared not to memorize them all, so when at last he turned to greet the unknown traveller, he did not bother with an introduction; he wouldn't have spoken his name even if this man had. A quick assessment told the demon all he required to know: at least two years of age, male, wiry build. Vivid blue eyes.

Dakarai's eyes, almost.

"It was making a fool of itself," came the gruff response in reference to the coyote, voice as deep as the wind's groans, a smoky, solemn tone taking grip of his tongue. What oddities he came upon; who was this man, speaking of killing? He was talking to death itself. But... oh, he'd entertain him for a while, perhaps, hints of a smirk threatening to tug at his lips. "Depends on my mood."

The answers were vague and he was left dissatisfied. He studied the shadowed man who's entire presence radiated death, he figured he should be intimidated but why should he fear death when he already felt dead inside? So he didn't fear, he just basked in the presence. The coyote had been making a fool of itself so it had been slaughtered, simple as that. He accepted the idea that previously would have appalled him. There was no place in the world for fools, for those like his father and himself. "It brought it upon itself then. And your mood...what is it now?" he asked calmly, the underlying meaning being "do you crave more death? Am I next?" 

Drakonis might have been disappointed with the recieved answer, but that was exactly what the reaper desired - to leave others unsatisfied, wanting more, but hesitating to ask. Often they didn't quite understand truly what their words meant, nor what they wanted; Aries would not gift them anything. Why should he?

Despite it all, the agouti dipped in acceptance, only to further pry into matters that were not of his own business - what was it with these wolves, sticking their noses into the deadliest of secrets? They always fled when overpowered with the dread that followed from knowledge, the curse that would haunt them like a shadow. Sometimes things were better left swept away in the dust.

He'd have left then, or made a move to end this miserable whelp's suffering, but in the voice, the Svartell witnessed the snatches of an opportunity, waiting, tempting. The world appeared adamant to present him with new toys, perhaps in apology of Siobhan's disappearance."What would you like it to be?" Came the slithering whisper, tone dropping further into the darkest depths of a cavern, the bottom of the ocean, the cracks of lighting in a violent thunderstorm - he moved closer, waiting to see if fear might creep into the eyes that distantly mirrored his own.

If Ares wanted fear he would not recieve any from Drakonis. Instead if anything there was just interest and curiosity, the hunger to know just how dangerous the male who shredded the coyote would be to him. Would he be attacked, his blood spilled on the ground? Or would he be left alone, not worthy of anyone's time, even a murderer's. What did he want the man's mood to be? Did he want to test fate, to see if this was where he was meant to die, if his life was just one meant to be tragedy? "What I want doesn't matter here. If I want you to hurt me, I'm sure you'd do so. If I didn't want you to hurt me, you'd probably still do so and maybe enjoy it more" he spoke in a hushed tone, not due to fear but because of a sick, twisted hope blossoming inside his chest. "Was that enough?" he asked gesturing to the Coyote's body. For a second he paused there, shocked by what he was doing. He wanted to hurt, to feel pain. He wanted to see if the male would kill him or if he still had something else left to do. "Or do you want another victim?" the deadly, dangerous words slipped past his maw before he could stop them. What did he have to fear when everything he had lived for was destroyed therefore leaving him empty and hollow, a walking dead man already?

Aries didn't doubt his abilities - killing was exactly what he was trained to do, a reaper of the Weald, and so chances were he could have murdered this agouti male right now. He could have watched as crimson stained the snow, a pool of rusty red to mark the woes of the troubled - he could have left his body to rot, watch as the ravens pecked and tore the flesh from his body. Let the bones stand guard over a heart that failed to beat.

But he didn't.

It was purely because he had the capability that he opted not to, intruiged to see if there was any particular reason he ought to leave this man alive. "Who are you?" Came the low rumble at last, concluded with a half-hiss from betwixt the dark lips - in other words, did he hold any valuability to the snake, or was he simply another figure in a sea of the useless?

Silence stretched onward and at last Drakonis felt somewhat uncomfortable. They stared at one another, the grey murderer's gaze cold and detached and Drakonis's now changing into something less curious and more wary. Even then he held his ground, breathing even until the hissed question broke the silence. The tension rose however and he shifted blinking once. Why did his identity matter? "Drakonis Svartell. Son of a dead fool and a murdered woman" he said this bitterly, maw wrinkling with disgust. He hated his dead father. The man had left to avenge his mother and ended up falling for another, having more children and making a mess of their lives too. That was the worst offense, bringing down your chaotic tendencies upon another. "Do I get a name from you?" he asked.

Drakonis Svartell.

How peculiar. The reaper did not miss how his ebony father had failed to mention more of his own blood trekking the earth, especially those who may have been wandering the teekon for plenty of moons now, oblivious to the soldier who'd claimed a little slice of it himself. Of course Dakarai had carved secrets to his chest, whispering not a word to anybody but his own mind - Aries wasn't angry, it just further connected his father to cowardice. Hiding his mistakes.

"Your father." Came the sinister but blank words, drifting forth across the wind with an expression of solemnity. "Was his name, by any chance, Dakarai?"

His black lips curled into a half smirk. "Aries Svartell."

"Unfortunately" came his own short reply, a sickly sort of feeling growing within his gut as his heart picked up the pace. A flicker of life grew in his dead eyes and he reguarded the male with a look of anticipation and hunger, hunger for knowledge, to know how the dark male knew of his father's name. It was seconds before Aries spoke his name that it clicked in Drakonis's mind that this was the missing sibling. Sirius had mentioned Cassiopeia and Aries but gave no hints to their whereabouts nor did Olive. How funny that he wandered upon them both in turn. "It's unfortunate that such a man gave us life. At least your mother is a good woman" he said this in a wary voice, unsure what the male's intentions were for him now. Now he didn't want to be hurt, he wanted to learn more about this brother, this darker version of Sirius. "Cassiopeia did it. Killed him." he wasn't sure if the information would be appreciated, if this man cared about his sister or his mother or family at all.

Indeed to share blood with the same cowardish sire was a shame, but he could not reverse the bindings of fate, nor erase what had occured before his birth. The reaper watched Drakonis intently, clicking together the missing pieces to uncover the link - they were half-siblings, and with the mention of Aries' ivory mother, he connected that their shared relation was Dakarai. Unfortunate.

The revelation that his littermate had been the one to split the throat of the man was no real surprise, and his only ackowledgement was a brief nod of his partially crimson-stained chin. "Smart decision." To cut off the weakling's life, to ensure that he wouldn't taint the world with his petty mistakes, and couldn't hide what he'd already done any longer. 

Having gained all from the encounter that he desired, Aries tipped back his head and made note of the sky's colour before swiftly, abruptly, turning and sliding back into the cover of trees; ever unpredictable. Whether or not Drakonis chose to trail his scent back toward the Weald was up to him alone: for once, the Svartell would not have chased him off.

There was almost always more information to be scrounged.

There was something that drew Drakonis in, Something he immediately liked about Aries. He wasn't quite sure what it was in the moment but for now he reasoned it to be the way power and control radiated off of him. How he wished to be powerful and in control of his own life, not so prone to shouting and anger. His half brother stated his opinion of Cassiopeia's act and after a moment of silence Drakonis reluctantly nodded "Yes...Men like him don't belong" and it was those words that started the first blooming of violence inside of Drakonis. He hated fools, hated men who didn't treat their family with respect and love. He was surprised when quite suddenly Aries turned around and with a glance at the sky walked off, reminding him of Sirius with the unpredictability of his actions. He opened his mouth to call out before slowly shutting it again and taking a few steps forward and pausing again. He wanted to follow, to find out where Aries made his home and if perhaps he would be allowed to remain nearby. Eventually he would track down his brother but for now he sat down, pondering the changes to his life with a good bit less negativity.