Emberwood red wine's broken chalice

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since meeting the boy, armand had lifted himself up and pressed onward. the urgings of his body spurred him to hunt; he caught small furred things, and ripped them apart to consume their flesh. he did not care if he tasted the meat, but the blood warmed him through and through. in the daylight, the boy's breath rose in a plume, and during the night did he shiver uncontrollably. while armand's teeth clacked together, he begged for death, but its black hand evaded him, and the forgotten one realized this each morn that he opened his eyes to see dawn.
today was no different. he had come to a wood bursting with firelit colours, and while his mind begged to pause, to stop awhile and ponder the conflagration, armand forced himself onward, seeking water and meat and shelter, while his pelt dragged at the sharp points of his bones and his mind grew hazy.[/tr][/td][/table]

Can we forward this to present day or would it mess up your timelines? O: ireallywantedthesetwotomeetomg

While he hugged the coast at first, it became clear that the coast was no place for a creature such as him. The prey there was scarce, the wind unending and unyielding, the sea ravaging the coast daily, tainting the air and the prey he did find. Moving inland was the best option for him if he needed to survive through the winter; he could not imagine what a blizzard would look like had it hit the coast.

The land, he supposed, would look sweeter had it been spring rather than winter. The land stretched and dipped and rose, frozen copies of the sea itself, but oceans of grass, flowers, hedges, rather than salt water. The days were still cold, but warmer here than on the sands of the coast. Here, at least, he was protected by the trees, the hills, the mountains. 

In this forest he was protected, at least a bit, from the cold. But protection was not sustenance, and Athan felt hunger lead him in search of others once more. The forest here was full of wolf scent, most old, but one fresh and strong. He followed it closely, his nose scuffing the ground as he came ever closer to the auburn sylph, his body growling impatiently with need, yearning for fulfillment. When he came face to face with the nimble creature, young and unassuming, a sudden distaste comes over him; a bitter memory that stills his hunger for the moment. He is forced to greet the boy now, rather than pounce. Salutari,

yes we can do that and omg these two will be gr8

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none of these things he found, but armand drew himself up to regard the stranger who suddenly appeared near him with a certain apprehension. the eyes of the other, he decided, were gems stolen from some veiled tomb; the beauty of them softened armand and warmed his mad psyche. he still trembled with the forceful cold but his desires had been eclipsed by this new object of his singular focus. "ciao," the boy murmured in the tongue of the painted place, for he did not recognize the language the other spoke, but felt it prudent to respond in kind. his eyes trailed over the moonlit pallor of the other's coat, the odd dark stripe, before armand held the haunting eyes once more. what manner of beast had come to him?[/tr][/td][/table]

The place where he was born had many people from many different lands and tongues. He recognized this one, though not the name. It was, in some ways, similar to his maker's, the one he peppered with the common tongue, but from the different ways that they greeted each other, it was substantial enough to divide the two lingually.

He absorbed the boy's appearance, both admiring him and detesting him at the same time, though it was not the boy's fault for his looks. It was simply what the boy reminded him of that brought bile from his throat. Why he caused such a reaction, and not the boy by the shore, Athan could not place. He was clearly not old enough to be the same boy he had once known, but the resemblance was there. It was palpable. My name is Athansius, but you may call me Athan if you wish, It was strange to have such a civilized conversation after so long of slinking in the shadows, striking his prey with sweet words laced with poison.

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athan. the boy did not speak it aloud, but let the tones of the man solidify the name in his ears. latin — perhaps that was its origin. his maker had known the tongue, but latin was one of many things he had not taught to his most chosen acolyte. fearful he might grow emotional, armand pushed violently away the thoughts and focused upon the darkly charismatic man before him. "i am armand." his hunger stilled and even his thirst subsided as he turned the attention of his chestnut eyes fully upon the wolf. "may i do something for you?"[/tr][/td][/table]

The boy intrigued him; he saw a familiarity between him and Mazatl, a suggestiveness and openness carried in their body's gentle sways, their large, begging eyes. It made the strigoi forward and possessive in the way not many prey did. For they would not be tossaways — he needed, wanted, to claim them, possess them entirely.

Tell me — are you familiar with wolves who drink the blood of other wolves? While Mazatl quietly succumbed, he felt from this boy his own kind of dominance that he expressed while under another's power. Perhaps it was experience or simply personality, but somehow he felt that he would know, or at least be more accepting.