. שמיחזה . Σεμιαζά . Samyaza .

A̗̹͈̣̙.̡͍̫̗͇͙ ҉̮̲̮͔̯̳̺P̲R̥͍͖̯͢I̤N͏̺C̪̘Ẹ̺͙͝.̝̜̼͟ͅ ̵̻̱͈̭W̮͓I̴̟͕̠̬̗̻̥T͘Ḩ̼͉.͕̬̯͈̯̖ ̵͕̺N̸̺̬ͅO̱͖̭̻̯̼̲͜.̱̰ͅ ̴͙T̴̻̼̫̟H͏R͕̖O̹͚͙N̼̬̗Ẹ͇͚̠͕͕̤.͍̦͎̞͞



There is a locked room in his house he doesn't show to anyone.  It's by far his favourite room.

At first glance, it might seem little more than a grim fetish - a dedication to death.  The rape of what some might consider holy


even beautiful.

But to him, it is so much more. 

It is a shrine.  

A legacy.

His legacy. 



The name he goes by; Dakarai means 'Happiness'

This is not his true name.

His name is nearly as impossible for a human to say as it is for a wolf to form consonants.


He is far older than he looks.

 He'd prevaricate as old as belief itself..

He is a liar-



a filthy s i n n e r.


But there was a time, not so long ago when he was one with Grace,

Bound by an unseen, unknowable will

They called him a Watcher,


They called him G͔͚̩̜̖̰͍ri͙̞̫g̙̟͖͉̟͖ͅo̖̙̣r͔͕ͅi̻̜̹͕̤͍ͅ.





On a distant plane, there is a sword formed of heavenly fire.  

Once, it belonged to a mighty being who wrought great destruction, unto his own and others.

For he knew nothing else.


It is kept bound and tempered, under the watchful eye of a triad of Cherubim.

Far from his wicked reach.

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  • The stoic man watched the moment Dakarai crumbled and turned the note to ash with seemingly no hint of a reaction, or one that might have satisfied the other man. Silas was good about that, but of course anyone with the history and experiences such as his own would be able to mask their emotions. Regardless, he's not exactly satisfied with that reaction on Dakarai's part and now knew there was no way he was going to walk away from this so easily..

    Hearing this, then the man ought to know sign language. Fine. 

    He brought his hands up to make the correct gestures to what he was trying to say to the other man. 

    What do you want? "  The most basic question to start with. Just what did this musterious man want from him? Why won't he just leave him alone? Of course, he knows it might have to do with the entity within him, but he's reall hoping that wasn't the damn case. 

  • Hunting, it was just something some people enjoyed to do. Be it putting themselves into danger like so for saving others. It wasn't always about the prize, the win, or even the money in the end. It was about the life that it brought people in the end of it all. It was that feeling on being on top of the world, meeting/saving new people. It all also came down the fact that you know you're alive.

    And Nes?

    She felt more alive than ever.

    Her legs kicked up impossibly fast. She learned that she can give more bounce to her step with the touch of psychic ability under her feet. She could easily keep a distance away from the Vetala that was seething and hissing at her from behind. For all she could be doing, she was imply happily prancing through the woods with no sense of endangerment or care of a monster coming up after her. 

    That was... until she caught the feeling of another in the area. Another mind, a sense of another aura. Not just the animals or the monster behind her. Another being... Devine celestial. She had not met many in her life. she could feel one now though, and she was heading straight towards it.

    Skinny legs in skinny jeans packed with muscle brought her stride by stride closer, kicking and crunching the forest leaves under the soles of her combat boots. The tail of her maroon cargo jacket flapped behind her, and the tank she wore under it all clung to her curves and stomach. The hair that never seemed to be tamed was like a dark fire, always going, never stopping. 

    When she was within several yards of the person she skitted to a stop in the leaves and focused her mind on his own. Then she saw the light of the white-hot flames that he was holding. She knew that flame. Nes understood what he was now and cursed whatever had her piss off Cathulu, Sithis, and anyone under and over for having her fuck up like this. Her lips peeled back with worry, he wasn't aiming that at her, right? 


    If not for the gesture of his hand then the direction his mind was going would have told her what his plans were. She wasn't a second too late before she dropped, head first, dolphin dive, into the pile of leaves and compost of the early forest floor. Her hands came up and over her head, hopefully blocking the heat of the flame when she knew it was going past. 

    The Vetala squeed in happiness, seeing his pray drop. His handsome face contorted in pure joy, getting ready to lunge at the downed girl that killed his mate. Then soon, blue eyes looked up, and his happiness turned into a frown instantly when the fire hit him. Then a scream of what could sound like a shriveling dying snake. It didn't last long, not with the hot flame licking up his body and taking hold of his being inside and out. The smell of burning flesh and hair hung deathly in the air. 

    Neseva popped up her head, no longer feeling the crazed dying mind of the beast behind her, and instead turned to the one in front of her. She didn't feel all too saved considering that she wasn't in trouble. Would he see it that way? And would he want payback for it too? Her golden eyes searched him up and down, a quick sweep. Taking in his dark features, right to his own pair of yellow eyes. Hmm...

    "Thanks, I guess." She started warily. She peeled herself off of the forest floor, batting away the sticking leaves off of her clothing. Her white tank was stained, dammit. Sigh. "I wasn't in much trouble though." She wasn't used to thanking people.. would he want something in return. "Ah.. I'm Neseva, and my false savior is?" Her hands went to her hips, strutting a pose if it counted at all like one. She wasn't no damsel in distress and she wasn't about to pretend to be one because of a pretty face. "I'll take it that you're not human, huh?"

  • Dakarai´s question froze her, pupils shrinking as she ran her fingers absently through Gylfi´s dense, golden brown fur. She wet her lips with a small, pink tongue. He knew all the right questions, didn´t he? In all honesty, it was quite rare that she would share omens with another, especially a non-pagan…and maybe a bit of her own prejudice made it hard for her to believe that an Angel would understand.

    To be fair, Soley knew she had brought him into this- or maybe the world had brought her to him. She tried to push the thought from her mind, clearing her throat as her obsidian gaze finally was cast upon him. She found Dakarai closer than before, near the window, his tattooed arm outstretched to prod at a sigil above her head.

    This close, his scent wafted up her nose, bathing in his aroma that unnerved, but attracted her. Her lips parted, eyes wandering freely to finally take in every detail of the fallen angel- at least, that´s what she was starting to suspect that he was. ¨I saw many things,¨ Soley began. ¨I´m not even sure what it all was, but it was all so...fucked.¨

    Absently, Soley began to rummage through her bag, pulling out an antler adorned with bite marks. She tossed the antler to Gylfi, who happily caught it, curled on the bearskin rug and began to chew, teeth scraping at the antler´s hard exterior. ¨I saw the book, the Raudskinna-¨ At the mere mention of the name, the candles lit by the bed seemed to blow out, even with the window closed, the whatever warmth the room held was soon drained. Soley swallowed hard, but continued.

    ¨There was…an inconceivable amount of death. Nations devastated, the world turned upside down. I saw Fenrir, released from his magickal chains. But they were killing people too, innocents, I believe.¨ Soley quickly turned away from him, heading over to the fireplace to listlessly light a match and toss it onto the wood. ¨They were all burned at the stake.¨

    The fire began to crackle to life, orange flames licking at the still, cold air. ¨And...¨ A baby. Soley shook her head, trying to forget the anguished, fearful cries of an infant. But it was only a baby, it couldn´t be that important. ¨Whatever that book holds, it should not be released.¨

    She opened the door, slipping her keys into her pocket, and whatever krona she had left. ¨Gylfi will be fine. He took a shit less than an hour ago, and he has his bone.¨ She glanced affectionately towards the sheepdog, who wagged his floof of a tail happily as he gnawed on his antler. Gylfi kept a watchful eye on Dakarai, as if the man was going to try to take his precious animal part.

    Soley lead Dakarai down the hall towards the cobblestone stairs leading down into the bar, an eighteen and up sign hanging above their heads. ¨And to answer your other question, yeah, I used to live in Sweden, but not Sodra Vi. I was born on the Kalispel Reservation, in Washington. Then we moved to Seattle, and after dad left, Ma and I moved to Iceland…¨

    The young witch took a seat at the bar, crossing one jean clad leg over the other, and loudly cracking her neck. ¨I was like...six or seven, then. I spent three years there, then we moved to Sweden. Two years pass, trouble caught up to us, and then we moved to Canada. Ma died, and I moved to Seattle again. My dad is from South Africa, I ain´t touched that continent, though...I moved to Seattle like...¨ Soley raised one hand to flag down the barkeep. ¨That was...¨ She thought for a moment. ¨Three years ago? Yeah, I was sixteen. Something like that. What about you, where have you lived? Or more importantly-¨ She cracked a smile when the barkeep approached. ¨Where are you from

    The bartender leaned against the bar, awaiting their order. ¨Two rounds of brännvin, please.¨ Soley asked. ¨And whatever he´s having.¨

  • Take your time, sweetheart. I've got my own stuff going on too, so replies are slow atm.
    I still think you're wonderful. xox

  • Something was compelling him to get away from this man and he's not sure if it's the entity within or just gut instincts telling him this wouldn't turn out well for him. Either way, he's learned to trust these instincts over the years and has survived this long off them, even without that aid of little healing ability that he's still not sure was only some effect on the idea he may not even be able to die. Who the hell knows and he sure as hell didn't want to find out, not now when he just found he had a son that needed him as much as he might need the kid, not quite having fully realized that just yet. 

    All in all, he just would rather get away from this young man and not get himself into any unwanted trouble which seemed all the nature of this man if that look in his eye had been anything to go by. So he'd started to step back and turn in a way that wouldn't entirely leave his back fully turned on the man just in case.. 

    ..But he doesn't expect the man to follow him, the sounds of his footsteps almost ominous causing a tick in Silas' jaw, the only real show of this unease. Turning back to look at him upon his question, Silas narrowed his eyes confused and shook his head, again. He thinks perhaps the man misunderstood him and reaches within his jacket to try and find the small notebook he carrid with him. He doesn't always like turning to this resort when often people weren't always patient to wait for him to write a response they had to read, but his handwriting is rather neat at least when he holds it up for Dakarai to read if given the chance..

    " I apologize, but I have to go. "  Short and simple and hopefully then the young man would understand. 


    Revealing the key which the Innkeeper had given her, Soley began to open the door to their room. The knob was sticky, her sculpted ebony brows furrowed as she wriggled the doorknob harder, until finally the door opened. She looked over her shoulder at Dakarai, his joyless, stoic features almost reminded her of Melokulhe- the way people assumed he was. A cold, prideful, stoic man with the heart of a Bantu warrior. Yet, Soley had known her father to be different, even if her memories of him were fading day by day. Part of her wondered if Dakarai was similar. She entered the room; a giant king sized bed lay centerfold on top of a bear skin rug, a fireplace built into the cottage walls. There were sigils and depictions of old Norse poems and battles etched into the walls, an antler chandelier hang from the ceiling.


    Aren’t you curious?


    Dakarai’s words shook her, and Soley was quick to stop in her tracks to look him dead in the eye. Perhaps a mistake, they gave her away- she was curious, she knew he was right, but there was no way in Hell she was going to admit it. Maybe Dakarai wasn't the only prideful one. “What I see in my dreams is warning enough.” Soley murmured. She made her way to the window, prying it open to let cold air rush into the cozy, cottage room. The witch leaned out, whistling and as she backed into the room, a furry, snow topped head popped into view. As quietly as the Sheepdog could, Gylfi scrambled in through the window, shaking to free himself of melting snow. Soley grinned, running her fingers through his wet fur. “Are you kidding?” Soley cast Dakarai a smile as well. “He's a tough guy, but I would rather a bear nor Draugr catch him in the night, and it's colder than Niflheim out there.”


    Soley arose as Gylfi began to explore the room, and the mulatto peeled off her jacket and backpack to reveal a simple black muscle tee, tucked into her light blue, high waisted jeans. Dakarai would now be able to see the array of tattoos adorning her golden skin, her arms, neck and sides, revealed by her muscle tee, were decorated in ink. She set her bag on the bed, taking out spare clothes and various toiletries. “Well, since we’re here,” Soley began. “Wanna hit the bar? They've got one downstairs, and the Swedes have good vodka. Should've seen how drunk my uncle would get when we lived here.”

  • Failure, was something that will not dare come from the lips of one man. The man that was robbed from his childhood, one who pledged to have vengeance on the one  that ruined his life. Martin Li; Mr.Negative was a man who was scorned and left to rot: only to flee into the ruins of F.E.A.S.T. The building may have been badly damaged by fire and pillaging of thugs, but the secrets there are deep and hard to find. Clawing and throwing rubble out of his way Mr.Negative would find a metal hatch that he would open with his bare hands.

    Once opened he would jump inside entering a tunnel and began to walk through it. Soon he would enter a hidden with Chinese fans, armor, demon masks and a weaponry. Walking over toward a desk with a demon mask he moved it aside to reveal blueprints of a landmark in New York.  The Mayor’s living area;The penthouse on the East side of New York.  “You will not escape my grasp this time Osborn, this I swear.”

    As he said that he would turn to a glass case containing a golden spear. He would walk over to it extending his hand to  open the case and taking hold of the spear. His hand started to pulse a black and white aura that soon generates into the spear powering it up. “Now no one will stand in my way.”

  • Dis reminded me of your comment you sassy bastid. xox

  • Amadore had turned tail. There was no mistake or denying it. He wasn't careless, and he knew where his capabilities start and where they end. Back there, he was out matched. Not by the hunters, no. He'd learned to deal with them no problem. It was who they were facing that worried him. While he might be all but human, there was more to Dakarai. Hell, Amadore could smell the distance between them both. Call it intuitions, or a gut feeling that he was getting. And it was saying for him to get the hell out of there. Forget the smell of blood, it can be had somewhere else. No need to lose your life, again, for something so trivial. Can't afford to be greedy. Just move onto the next. That was the best option. Thus, driving off, knowing it had nothing to do with him.

    Fiona would have been proud, or patted him for being smart for once. Amadore snickers to himself, how pathetic that sounded in his head. And yet, desired the insulting praise. It was something, better than nothing at all. Okay, now he was irritated. Unable to get the woman out of his mind. She always managed to twist his thoughts, even if she wasn't doing it herself, but himself. He's pathetic that way, but something he does in the sake of his own privacy. Just how bad would it look were he to do this publicly?

    While he had left before their conversation had gone deeper. Amadore had heard nothing of it. His reaction would have been priceless and his curiosity shot to a new high. He had been a rather close to god then. And all this would have piqued interests that he's long lost. But after falling this low himself, robbed him of his beliefs. As if they had never been there.

    There was something though, in the mist of things. But he didn't dare look up. Would make it obvious that he was curious, and possibly knew what had followed. Sure as hell wasn't the hunters. But that other one, that stood on his own against them. Wasn't a bird, because that would be one helluva bird. Where Amadore had decided to stop was nowhere populated, so no one would be looking. Though would Dakarai even care if he was spotted? Fluttering around in the sky.

    As he still straddled the seat of his motorcycle, his hands however, they were flat upon his legs. Wiping his palms like they were moist with sweat. Actually, it was just a human trait that had stuck, when someone is nervous, they sweat at the palms. He was merely doing it out of habit, nothing more. There wasn't anything he wants to admit, not even to himself. But Amadore uses the reflection off a window. When nothing would have appeared to the human naked eye. Amadore was capable to seeing him, no problem. His gaze etched the look of those thunderous wings. Their movement and their haunting sounds. He was feeling a flutter that he hadn't in a long time. That dread he felt when he was turned, that mouth tearing into him. Fear. Amadore didn't think he would be feeling that, not now. But he was, though small, it was growing.

    He balled his hands into fists, trying to get a hold of himself. And from that point on, he would be the man everyone confronted. The facade. "Little bird, little bird. Why have you followed me?" he said, sounding like he were chanting a spell. But it's after reciting that, that he turned his attention up. If the Grigori hadn't already landed. Blocking means of any escape. Amadore's heart would have been loud in his ear, had he a heart to make that possible. Though the thought was pleasant, made the man feel, alive.

    Anyone else would have instantly asked, an angel? A demon? Nothing of the kind, or at least that's what he thinks. Taking in a deep breath, sampling the air. Much like the Grigori was doing. Did he know? That Amadore was a vampire. He had to, Amadore was positive of it. He withdrew his hands from his lap, crossing his arm instead. He needed to seem like he wasn't unsettled, that he was laying out his possibilities, what he might have to do. Were this individual a hostile one. Amadore was willing to fight with tooth and nail for his survival. But always tries to avoid that. If he can.

    Now it was all up to time, what would Dakarai do. Deny the vampire to live another day, simply because he'd seen something he shouldn't have? Or did it matter that he had, because it was no secret at all. He is only doing it because he can. That's usually the case with most all predators. Even Amadore had done it in the past, even today. But at this moment, no. He knows well to keep his tongue in his pocket, as it were. And he might live to see another day. Arrogant he might be, but not entirely stupid that he doesn't know his place in this world. He knows his limits. Though, using his tongue to get out of his things is not always a bad idea. Talk big, and well, you see results, sometimes.

  • His own dark hues seemed to stay on that gaze, somehow finding it hard to look away from such a gaze belonging to this young man.. He also soon found an unsettled sensation expanding from somewhere deep within and the further it expanded, the more he had this urge to.. Not run.. but to Fight. 

    It's a feeling he hasn't quite felt in a long time now, at least, not sense his days as the warrior he was and still is where it's been kept tamed and centered for so long without cause to unleash it, but something about this young man was cracking the barrier he'd put in place. Sure, he wanted to fight, he would if he had to, but another part he'd built, the tamed and controlled part of himself was more willing to step back and walk away.

    He does just that, shaking his head a little and stepping back, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb as though to indicate he had to go, that he might not have the time to sit and chat. 

    It's not exactly evident on the affects Dakarai had on Silas when the man seemed to be awfully cool and casual about his parting, but within there was something of a struggle he's not quite felt before and he didn't dare let it get the best of him where he couldn't annalyze it, nor.. control it. 

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