Deepwood Weald Willst du nur Früchte von ihr, die kann auch die Sterbliche zeugen;
— of straunge noyses, crackes, and sundrie forewarnings
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#1
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distantly, birds begin their chorus as the dark of night begins to fade. the morn is cool, clouds heavy in the sky. it is a balm against the wraith's pounding heart and disappointment, for where there should be warmth and blood betwixt her fangs there is only the emptiness of a failed hunt. 

she moves through the wildflowers, auds flicking atop her head. her aim is the tangled weald to the west, and soon enough, she reaches the treeline. with a final glance behind her, she slips into the dark of the treeline, continuing westward. 
@Abaddon
the blood prince
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#2
There was a slow shift in the vampire's demeanour since the day he and his half-brother met. Abaddon was growing more agitated by the day, slowly, but surely eventually more palpable as his snarky and biting words had more edge to them as time went on. He was hungry - and not in common sense that Death might think. He was hungry; and should the brothers be traveling together for an extended period of time, this side of the white man had to be seen eventually.

He wouldn't ignore the craving for the sake of the kid. 

As his focus changed from the boy onto their surroundings more and more, ignoring the kid even more so as the figure of another emerged from beyond the limits of the forest and the prince of darkness almost completely forgot about the boy as his new plaything became his new center of focus. Striding forward, he strode toward the female and offered a charming smile. Hello~ He cooes smoothly. Are you alone as well? We are wandering brothers. 

His game began.
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— of straunge noyses, crackes, and sundrie forewarnings
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cutting through the weald there came a male, moonlight and bleeding shadows. for a moment, she is frozen, breath caught. but the darkness around his orbits, the shine of his eyes, it is wrong. gaze slips to the younger boy a distance away; he can not be more than a few months old. the honeyed words that slip from her maw fail to alert intuition softened by the kindness of the last few wolves she's met. 

her tail sways once, muzzle dipping in greeting and agreement. gaze moves again to the younger, even as her head cants and ears flick, asking silently of the stranger's intent.
"I have abandoned all emotions as useless sentimentality."
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#4
Death, or Almight, was just the regular kind of hungry. He had yet to catch anything on his own successfully, and relied on the skill of his partner in crime. He knew that, one day, he'd grow big and strong just like him and they could probably take down a whole deer together! Two strapping young men versus the wilderness, how exciting!

He was just about to mention he could go for a rest and some dinner/breakfast/food when Abaddon strode off to someone in the distance. How annoying. He furrowed his brow, trotting as quickly as he could to chase him. He didn't want to be left out after all. 'llo. Was all he offered the quiet girl, then his attention shifted to his brother. Did they really have time for this? Geez.
the blood prince
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But of course, this was necessary, more so than the boy could possibly ever understand. it was for his own good too, after all, the boy was easy pickings as far as Abaddon could tell... what was truly stopping the brother from snacking on his own flesh and blood other than just a temporary travel companion? Thankfully he didn't whine or complain and instead followed as the pale man approached the quiet woman. She seemed like the perfect choice... quiet, friendly enough to approach. 

I'm Abaddon and this is my brother, Almight, we haven't seen anyone new in a while. Charming, he had to be just that. her guard was low already and he was so damn hungry... he steps forward just a little more, testing the waters between their distance and - like a flash, he sprung forward, hungry teeth reaching out to bite into her skin. 

The switch was instant, without a true signal to prepare anyone as he simply moved suddenly. Posture, expression, it all was immediate. There was no time to talk her into it - nor would he kill her... unless she fought back enough to make it worth it. 

But he was hungry, unGodly so that he simply could not hold it back any longer; and Death would soon see just what kind of a man his brother truly was.
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— of straunge noyses, crackes, and sundrie forewarnings
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too late, does she see the intent in that dark-rimmed gaze. his step is met with a stillness of her own, unwilling to give ground, and then he is a charging ghoul. she is off-balance, stumbling as his fangs dig into her shoulder. her muzzle swings around, fangs grabbing for hold and snapping on empty air. again, a desperate grab of her fangs. she is untethered, forgetting to fight with anything besides instinct, struggling still to gather her limbs beneath her.
"I have abandoned all emotions as useless sentimentality."
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#7
The boy had seen his fair share of fighting. Though there was no blood on his hands, he was no stranger to the violent source. He knew where the knife was hidden, its dark location, and did not shudder at thought. He found the violence but mildly amusing, its power no more than seeing who could scream the loudest. There was a thrill in the torture, but he could not say the fight was what had him begging on his knees for more. He thought that somehow, Abaddon would be above all that, like he was. His brother had proven him wrong.

His only reaction to the mindless display of fangs and assumed power was the raise of his brows, a slight retreat to avoid getting caught in the tumble. He paced 'round, observing quietly. There was no encouragement, no hint he might enjoy what he was seeing — there was only the knowledge that he was a witness, young mind soaking up what was around him. Frequent displays of this would most certainly normalize it for him, but for now, all he felt was disappointment and a disturbance within his soul.
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#8
Wrestling with her struggling body, her snapping fangs only tightened his grip as he tried to place a paw on her neck or shoulder to pin the woman down and try to keep her place so she struggled a little less. Hopefully, she would tire herself out first before she bled to death, a wrongful bite, a knick too far to one side and she was a goner...

But he was hungry.

Too hungry to really care. 

With muscles flexing, he was truly his father's son in this moment. No poise or grace, he simply wanted to overpower her and pin her down so he could take what he desired most at this moment. Should she continue to struggle, he would simply try to keep wrestling until she was under his control, squeezing and pressing the woman under his weight. 

Some bruising was a good possibility, especially on her neck. With the struggling and lack of give he was giving her, the poor thing's neck might be sore in the morning and for a few days after... but it was well worth it. For him. For his tongue to feel and taste that sweet nectar was euphoric after what felt like so long of a drought after picking up the child.
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