The Stalking of TLD

[Lillith]

michael_hazarh* The Western hemisphere brought cold weather this time of year. Fierce winds, heavy clouds which lingered ominously within the frigid heavens, and offered promises of snowfall were common place here near the mountains that stood tall and spired upwards into the foggy skies. The trees were no more than naked towers sprouting up from the white coated ground, where the snow lay heavily from frequent storms that seemed as incessant as they were fierce. The cold weather had driven away the food, and had driven away the warmth and the green, however still he had not moved from the humble cabin he had forged deep within the once lush, green forest. A hunter to the bitter end, this was his territory, he had claimed it, fought for it, protected it and nutured it. Even in the winter months, which were far from passing he lingered in the deep of the forest, pacing heavily through the tall snow, with a crunch of his boots with each and every step. Over his back an elk... of all things. A creature that weighed nearly one metric ton had been taken down, its throat was gone, torn asunder into bloody tendrils of torn flesh and muscle, pulp clinging nearly to the glistening spinal column. With one arm, hoisted up, his thick, powerful fingertips dug deep into the ribs of the creature as he continued back towards the cabin, where the smoke from the chimney offered promises of warmth and some comfort. He was a man of great stature, who seemed to tower along with the crippled trees within the forest. Each step taken was a great one, his gait was as impressive as his frame. The clothing he wore was that of a humble hunter, cotton over a massive, broad chest, a belt of leather, a simple hunting knife upon his left side, fit for a hand as great as his own. Dark brown, pants, loose fitted and as ragged as the leather boots upon his feet. Everything comfortably lived in, worn and well taken care of in spite of their appearance. The massive creature he had taken down had been killed quickly, the markings upon its throat, spoke of some other hunter, perhaps a feral dog of some sort, however no wolf would be strong enough to take down a full grown eld. No, whatever had taken down the Elk, was far greater, a wolf of such size and power that it was whispered of in legends. The town that resided miles, and miles away from the humble cabin did indeed tell tales of such beasts. A large, gray wolf, that towered over houses, and hunted in the night like some nightmarish phantom. Yet the wolf had not harmed any of the humans, and in fact, the hunting did not suffer, nor did the humans have anything to fear since the wolf had been seen by the old men and the hunters of the village and city. The wolf was he of course, amongst other guises that fled through his thick powerful veins. The massive creature was tossed forward with a sway of a great arm and it landed upon the snow in a heap. A deep breath was taken, as his full lips parted to allow rolling tides of steam to flow forth from his lungs. The hunting knife was drawn out and thrust down into the snow as he settled down upon the steps of the cabin and gazed out at the beast. Silence. It was always so very quiet in the winter months, and he often missed the noise that ventured on in the city, and around the forest. Soon enough, he was up and kneeling next to the carcass of the great beast and he began with the bloody work of gutting and cleaning the beast. This was a task that often took hours, however with the skill of a man who had worked at this craft for ages on end, he began the task, and finished it almost within an hour. And at the end of that hour, he was setting aside the bones, and the meat that he would keep for himself over the winter months, the hide, that he would use to repair clothing, and blankets, and all other portions of the beast that were not eaten, would be used for something of import. Nothing was ever wasted.

True_Lady_Death: It was the same wherever she went. Nothing. Lands full of nothing. It was much the same here. Some might perhaps think it beautiful, this land of snow and ice. She sat now upon a knoll, thighs clamped tight to the saddle of Vassago, eyes the same pallor of the land gazing down upon the scene unfolding before her. A man.. hunting. The wind whipped about her, cold enough to surely chill many to the bone, yet she sat as stone, uneffected. Thick mane danced about her body swathed this day in shining black armor, the helm upon her head covering a face as cold as the weather. Her steed moved, a flick of his horned head, a low snort, indication that he was becoming agitated with just standing there. Yet she found the man below.. interesting. The scent of blood caressed her senses, easing absentminded fingers through Vassagos mane to soothe him. She made no attempt to hide her presence, for there was no fear. Below her was but a man, cutting up his food. Perhaps. She had witnessed enough in her 'lifetime' to know never to take any as mere 'simple'. Yet she found herself staring, pondering on this seemingly simple thing. Hunting for ones food, living off the land. There was a time, so long ago.. yes.. she remembered. An unseen scowl furrowed her brow, her fingers tightening and tugging upon her steed overly much, causing him to snort yet again, to paw upon the ground. Words recently spoken to her coursed through her mind, and a sneer curled over red tiers. Was this happiness? To live such a life? Bah.

michael_hazarh* Just a man indeed. Most would see him as some sort of giant. Seven feet, four inches in height, wide, powerful. Every ounce of his frame was laden with muscle, which resided just beneath a sleek layer of dark flesh. The features of his face were still and contemplative. If someone were to ask him, if he was happy, he would have to smile, and nod his head. It was a lonely existence, but he could not complain about anything. Both of his sleek, hazel eyes wandered over the piles and he began to separate the bones further, and sort through them, gathering up a few then and there and slipping them into a small pouch upon his side. They would be trinkets that would be fashioned into jewelry to be traded off in town, or to be given to some of the village children, who fancied such things. A gentle giant was he, or so it seemed, though he moved with the practiced gait of a hunter, and a killer. The wind swept about him, and he knew that a woman was there, he knew she sat upon a horse, and he knew the horse grew restless. He heard the sound of her fingertips running through the creature's mane, and he heard the beating of her heart. A mild pause was given, as he finally stood to his feet, and then paced to the large barrel of water he kept near the front of the door. Five or six inches of ice ripped apart beneath his hands as he plunged them through its shimmering surface into the cool waters below. A beating heart, but the smell of death, the feel of it permeated so proudly from the woman. It was indeed an odd occurance and he was quite puzzled by this. His nose wrinkled as he took in another breath to analyze the scent more. She was indeed a living being, clean, well kept, he had not yet seen her, but he knew exactly where she was. She was on his territory, and that didn't trouble him so much as it made him wonder what she wanted. She hadn't come bringing trouble. At least not yet, he would have heard it, and caught the smell of fear upon the wind by now. His senses were so keen, that nothing seemed to escape him. Soon enough he drew his wet hands from the frigid waters and dried them upon the towel, which hung just above the barrel. Still, she was here, and the presence of so much death in one location was disturbing to say the least. A deep breath was taken, and he sighed it out and hung his head, as he finally decided that being responsible was in order. He was hardly social, and was more inclined to watch and listen than to go out of his way to talk to someone. Especially someone who followed the path of death so closely. Nevertheless she was indeed close, and it wouldn't do to have a visitor and not acknowledge them. And so, he drew back to the meat and slid the towel and and placed the fresh slabs upon it. Almost a ton of flesh was then hefted up and then carried into the cabin with monumental strength. No, he was no ordinary man, that became apparent the moment he lifted such weight without so much as a strain in his large body. In but a few moments he was existing the house, leaving the fur to dry upon a rack and the rest of the bones to lay upon the snow to whiten. He then began to follow the scent of the woman, and began to trek upwards through the snow, through the brush and the trees towards her location. The cool winter air snapped at his features, but he did not seem to mind, or care, or notice. Whichever was the case, it was indeed odd, and to others, simply marked him perhaps as some sort of were-beast. This was of course a common mistake. The blood of Katah' Rei held a great many things akin to the were races of many worlds. However they most certainly were not were. He was no exception, eventually, he paced up along the ridge and saw the mighty steed. Both of his hazel eyes fixed upon the beast for a moment, and then veered up towards the rider. A moment of silence, as his lips parted as if to speak. Then he paused and said nothing. No, Michael was a simple man, not a man of diplomacy, nor a man to be considered ambassador of anything, especially if he couldn't speak on behalf of his own home. Slowly he turned away from her and looked down the ridge back at his home, as if seeking a few guide lines from the comfort of his cozy cabin. A rather defeated sigh escaped him as he turned back towards the woman, raised his right hand and scratched idly at the back of his head. "Can I help you?" he finally managed, in a deep, powerful voice. No, not the most eloquent, but he was intelligent, in a very feral way.

True_Lady_Death: Ah, he had skills. He was gauging her, she could tell. No fear of her presence issued from him, but that was not surprising. What was, was that he seemed confused by her. Confusion was not something she was used to. Warily she watched as he retreated within his little home, noting indeed his strength. This alone gave testament to the fact he was not human. Her face lifted slightly as he disappeared, gazing off in the distance, contemplating a return to Winterhaven. No, she would not make her way to his domain. There was no need. He was but another speck upon this Plane, easily disregarded. But movement caught her eye again, and she turned her attention again to witness him coming towards her. Perhaps not so surprising. A lone man, near his own home, most she came across would look to protect such things, and indeed it was something she could understand. But he was far from hurried. No weapons she could see as he approached, giving her pause in drawing her own sword snugged upon a sleek hip. In fact his arrival was rather lazy, which she found odd. Normally were she to come across a homestead as this, the persons occupying would come full force to attempt to remove her from the premises. Vassago wasn't quite as easygoing as Michael paced even closer. His head would bounce up and down, pawing again at the snow-covered ground, skittering slightly to the side, causing her to tighten her grip upon the reins and force him to calm, even as those piercing eyes gazing forth from her helm stared upon the man before her. Nostrils would flare to gather in his scent, and even this was confusing. Nothing she could truly pinpoint. Perhaps this in itself was what began to set her on edge. Know ones enemies, and for this woman, everyone was an enemy until they proved otherwise. Yet his own calming tone was what it took maybe for her to settle again, leaning overto smooth soft words into her steeds ear, all the while her gaze remaining riveted upon Michael. Finally she would sit tall again, head tilting to the side a bit, her long mane dancing about the whiteness of her flesh not covered in dark steel. " I somehow doubt it stranger. You are merely one sight among many I'm sure, on this path I have chosen." Her tone was as cold as the biting wind whisking about them, and surely not lost upon him.

michael_hazarh* The disturbance of the horse was no real surprise to him. When it came to the Katah' Rei the animals were either at ease around you, or they were worried they would be a meal. And so he made no movement, nor did he seek to further cause the animal any sort of disturbance. Indeed he did move with the swagger of a man who knew his place in the world. It was as if he was comfortable regardless of where he was, or what situation he was in. The woman before him was an enigma, but he wasn't going to give himself a head ache over trying to figure it out. It really didn't matter in the end. She had a lot to do with death, and death was a natural part of life. So long as she didn't start killing off things in his home, or start tearing apart the village, she could pace around all she wanted. When she spoke to the horse, he watched, smiling faintly, at his own inner monologue. She seemed to care for her beast, and that was a testimony to something wasn't it? Then again horses were always the well loved breed, and at that thought, he had to smile all the more. When she spoke however he raised his head slowly, as if suddenly drawn out of his own inner thoughts. Both of his sleek, hazel eyes fallen upon what little portions of her features he could see. She was armed as if ready to combat some foe or another. An amusing thought considering the only true danger around the area happened to be the poison ivy, which had died off since the cold weather had crept in. Then again the cold weather here could be dangerous as well. Blizzards were prevalent, and he had known since this morning that a storm was already marked to strike this evening. The words she spoke were not above him at all. Though he did stand there for a moment, before bobbing his head. "That I am," he stated quite simply, as he turned away from her, and slid his large hands into the loops of his pants. If there were any thoughts about her, he most certainly didn't seem to wear them on his sleeve. No opinion really, no concern really, nothing. She had spoken her peace, after his inquiry and that had settled it. "You may want to find shelter for this evening, a blizzard's due to hit, there's a village a few miles east of here," he offered rather casually, lifting his voice so that she could hear it past the winds, which had already begun to pick up in their ferocity. He had done his good deed for the day, and had been nice to the creepy visitor who smelled and tasted of death. Inwardly he was rather proud of himself, and once more he had to muse over the years long passed. What would he have done when he was younger? Charged in, teeth bared to rip the death-lady's throat out? Get his head lopped off in the process by her fancy sword. A soft chuckle, and a shake of his head. He was glad he was putting his hind sight into the forefront now more than ever. Though it was just as well, he was too old to go jumping to conclusions, too old to make enemies and be pig headed. Soon enough he was back to the front of his cozy home, and he smiled thoughtfully as he descended and began to gather the remaining bones. It wouldn't do to lose them in the blizzard after all.

True_Lady_Death: She noted his smile, and wondered what he found about her so amusing. But his eyes were distant as his lips curled upwards, bringing her to think maybe it was not she he was musing on. It seemed he had been alone for quite awhile, taking to his own thoughts so easily when even in the presence of a stranger. She had seen many like this, and knew the signs well. yes, she thought, her assumptions were correct somewhat, as he answered her so easily. Yet, he told her of a town nearby. A brow would loft slowly, her gaze turning to the direction he had indicated. Well now, that might prove to hold some amusement for her. Perhaps within this town there would be ones that needed dealt with. Steps she heard, and she watched silently as Michael paced away from her. Yet another thing that she found interesting. Few simply turned their back to her. Not only did she cut an imposing figure, but she was very aware of what she reeked of. To let him simply go.. seemed rather stupid. Why? Once again, she didn't have an answer to her own question. This in itself was becoming irritating. Sliding from the saddle, she would croon softly to Vassago. " Go my friend. I will call if your might is needed at my side." Yes, she did care for her War Horse, much as he cared for his Mistress. A snort Vassago would give in retort, nuzzling his satin muzzle against her cheek, butting a horn against her shoulder before turning and walking off into the storm. Slowly she would follow the path Michael had taken, the wind screaming about her, kissing against her flesh like a lover might. At his door she found herself, staring at the portal, the heat and smell of such a cozy domain washing about her. How quaint.

michael_hazarh* Once inside he ventured through the house to the back where the bones were set upon a small porch to whiten. A deep breath was taken as he lifted his head and gazed up at the darkening heavens. Already the snow began to fall and he smiled faintly. "I can't wait until spring," he muttered, good naturedly as he shook his head and turned his head. Through the wind and chill, through the wood of the cabin, the warmth of the crackling fire, and then through the front door, he could smell her, standing there. Why had she come? Why not? Michael wasn't the man he had once been, he had been curious about the woman, but he was hardly the man to inquire this and that to someone he knew nothing about in the first place. With that same comfortable, and steady gait he paced into the house and migrated to the fire place. The warmth splashed against him comfortably as his hands extended to the bin which was heavily piled with logs upon logs of wood. He had been well prepared for the fierce winter. "The door's unlocked, you can come in if you'd like. Standing out there won't get you anywhere," he said, promptly as a heavy log was lifted with a large, calloused hand. The log was tossed into the fireplace and the wood crackled beneath the embrace of the flames. Steadily he began working with a few iron rods, piecing them together to form a spit, which rested higher within the hand crafted fireplace. The interior was very spacious, and very roomy. There was hardly any clutter and that was due to the fact that he was a man who did not seem very interested in material possessions. The floors were wooden of course, but were completely covered in furs that had been dyed a very lush crimson. This made the home very warm and kept the chill of the outside at bay. The main living area was the largest room, with a simple couch that rested in front of the fire place. It was where he ate his meals, and sat and often slept or so it seemed. To the far left was a small hallway which lead to a bedroom, with a single bed, which resided upon the floor. A single dresser, and a walk in closet with nothing inside of it. The kitchen was well crafted, with clean wood floors, a wood burning stove and large pots that resided upon each stove, mostly used for stews and soups. A quiet cozy home indeed. In spite of his nature as a hunter the walls were not decorated with animal trophies. Though the house held many animal parts. Teh couch in and of itself was crafted of many animal parts, bone, and other pieces, as was the bed, and portions of the doors, such as the handles. Upon her entrance, he would slide a large portion of elk meat upon a platter in front of the fireplace. Upon the mantle was a spice rack, crafted from the antlers of a buck. "Hungry?" he inquired simply, as he began to select certain spices very methodically.

True_Lady_Death: Maybe.. it was just his simplicity that had drawn her to his door. Thalin was thus, so simple in his ways, but this man was very different from Thalin. She stood just outside his door, gazing at it, taking in the thought of it all. Just a man, a mere man who'd made his life here, alone. Settled in for winter. Alone. She was not startled as she heard his deep voice permeate through the portal, allowing her passage within. And she would hesitate. Even as her hand lifted to turn the handle, she hesitated. No, she would tell herself, it was not curiosity that drove her to push the door open and step inside. It was information she saught. Surely, as the door clicked shut behind her, shutting out the fierceness of winter, she looked rather odd in this indeed quaint homestead. 6'3" of statuesque female, flesh as white as the blustering snow outside, hair the same that cascaded down past her thighs. The fire would gleam almost merrily upon her armor as she stood there stiffly, looking about slowly. Very much out of place in this little home.. so warm. In fact, the warmth of the room waned unquestionably with her arrival, icy fingers licking about the place, Shadows shifting uneasily as she remained just before the door motionlessly. A slow blink she would give as he spoke to her again, moonlit orbs peering from beneath the helm she still had not removed. How could he act so casual towards her? As if she were but a neighbor coming to call. " I do not partake of.. food." she would offer, even as the smell of cooking meat wafted to her. Memories again washed through her, causing lush lips to part, a breath gathered in. Mother, sitting before the fire, cooking dinner. Laughter bubbled through her mind, and it wassweet, like an angels.. like Mother had been.. Shaking her head to clear herself of such thoughts, thoughts that had no room in her life any longer, she would look again to Michael, her tone perhaps a bit more harsh then needed. " I come seeking information."

michael_hazarh* Though that was at least from Lady Death's perspective an impossible suggestion. There was far too much muscle and far too much to him, to allow for such sluggish responses in everything he did. No, it was merely that he took his time, and even when he spoke his voice was measured and even and well paced. She said she came for information and once more he smiled, as he turned to face her. "Well, " he said as he bobbed his head slowly. "You most definately came to the wrong place for that," he stated as a hefty chuckle departed from his frame. Once more he leaned forward and descended to a kneeling position. The meat was lifted and placed upon the spit, and instantly the scent of roasting flesh wafted heavily throughout the room deliciously. Two large steaks were put into place over the flames that grasped and licked at them, as the rest of the meat was wrapped and then lifted within his large hands. Again he ascended and paced to the kitchen, speaking along the way. "I don't get many visitors out here," he confessed. "And even still, the only words I catch are from whatever strangers, unfortunate enough to get lost out here," he said as he placed the stakes out in the salt chamber upon the back porch. Again he cleaned his hands and then entered. "And if you mean information about me," he stated, as he again sank down upon the comfortable couch. "I'm just Michael, and what you ever see with your eyes of me, is all that you will see of me," he offered. That statement was the only profound thing ever to cross from his lips and it had a meaning to it that perhaps was cryptic in nature. However it was not meant to be cryptic at all. It was as it was meant to be uttered. If she saw him in any other way, that was what she would see him as, and that was all she would ever know of him. That was the law he abided by, and it was the law he obeyed for eons before he had even thought to move to this remote region of the world.

[Lillith]

True_Lady_Death: Were the words that Torment spewed at her correct? Was it the talk she'd had with him that caused her to remain here, in this normal house with this seemingly normal man, albeit one with great stature. Was torment and his little speech that caused the memories of her childhood to now sweep through her after being buried for so long? She was no longer Hope.. she was Lady Death! Her history, her story was long, and very hard won. Caught within her own reverie, she would come back as Michael chose to speak yet again, and a bit more extensively this time. She would move finally, a predators ease as boots thunked upon his simple floor towards a window, her back to him as she gazed outside and took in his words. Did he ever venture to the nearby village then? A smirk would tease across her mouth unseen as he spoke of himself, purring low in retort. " Michael is it. I knew a Michael once, he was quite righteous. As for you only being what I see with my eyes, I doubt that. I sense much more within you, but I won't press. You say you only speak occasionally to strangers that get lost. Know you anything of the village you spoke of?"



michael_hazarh* At her mention of a Michael who was righteous he did smile faintly. He was quiet intelligent, and he knew of whom she spoke of. Or rather he had a very good assumption as to whom she was referring to. All of his focus however did seem to return to the sizzling meat upon the spit as his large hands once more began to busily rub together. It was a sure sign of his mind at work or so it seemed. He was not distracted, quite the contrary however, it was merely that he was listening and thinking at the same time. "The village is a fishing village near the water, a few hunters venture this far but not often," he offered simply. "Good folk, simple folk," he offered with a simple nod of his head as he leaned forward and with bared fingertips poked and prodded at the meat, checking it for tenderness. She was quite aware, but he had no qualms of that. In his time he had crossed paths with many such beings, who were aware, but only to a degree. She only knew a portion of the puzzle and that was all she would be allowed to know. "Every man has more to him, than what our eyes tell us," he did offer finally, in response to her former statement of sensing something within him. Soon enough however he was up, and he took hold of the iron spit. It was nearly red hot, but his flesh did not seem to burn, nor char at the heat. The meat was drawn off, as he tore at the flesh with his thick, powerful fingertips. The portion was placed into his mouth and he began to chew quietly, thoughtfully.


True_Lady_Death: She would glance over her shoulder in time to witness him grasping the red hot skewer, watch him eat the hot meat as if there was nothing to feel. A simple nod she would give, her helm glinting in the light, turning once again to move towards the door. " I see. Simpe folk. Then, I can be rest assured that no undead walk amongst them?" She would stop before the door, gazing at him intently, wanting to inquire more of him. 'Normal' men did not go without getting burned when picking up fire. Oh yes, this Michael was an interesting one indeed. Yet it was obvious, he would be far from forthcoming. Choosing to live so very alone. Much like she did.. Inwardly she would snarl, knowing she was lingering too long, wanting to just go and Hunt on her own, wanting to stay. Perhaps he would feel her anger as it ran through her, as her sleek body tensed, as the Shadows that played within the little cabin came to life slightly as the agitation of their Mistress came about. Seeking to come forth, working to slide out from beneath furniture, from darkened corners, to soothe her, be near her. Fight for her. But she would rumble a low.. " No.." and they would return from whence they came, even as she waited for Michael to answer.




michael_hazarh* "Not on my watch," he almost scoffed. That was a bit of the young Michael peering through, and breaking into the scene. Confident and a bit cocky. The idea of undead stalking about the villagers and causing havoc. There hadn't been a vampire in this part of the world in a very long time, and that was due to him and him alone. The last vampire had turned to dust beneath a rather large pair of wolf fangs, and since then the villagers spoke fondly of the dark creature that haunted the forests and brought good luck to the hunters. He didn't seek attention and often tried to stay out of the way of the humans. However, being a fourteen and a half foot black wolf... especially in the winter months, made it almost impossible to stay out of view all of the time. And of course humans were clever, and they had eyes upon him, regardless of how aware he was of them. It made him laugh to realize just how many were watching him, even though he knew that they were out there. "No..." he stated with a shake of his head as he ripped another hunk of meat off of the core. "Nothing dead walks this place at all. And if it does, it does not stalk for long at all..." he explained, as he slid the meat into his mouth and began to chew once more.




True_Lady_Death: And it would be those words that froze her, caused her to drop her hand from the handle of the door, caused all her thoughts of leaving quickly to whisk away.. for the moment. " Not on your watch?" Slowly, hands would lift, grabbing her helm at the sides to pull it free, shaking her head to cause her silken hair to rift about the beauy of her face, however hard it might be. Almondesque eyes stared upon him, their fathomless whiteness blazing bright for a split second, taking in this man who chewed upon his meat, and spoke of ridding the area of undead ilk. Yes, she could read between lines easily enough. So, he was a hunter of more then just elk it seemed. " So.." she would muse, helm grasped tightly within a hand of immeasureable strength dropping to her side to perch upon the lovely swell of her hip.. " it seems you have managed to take away the sort of amusement I was seeking, for the moment. Perhaps you could tell me of a place the dead might walk? A place you haven't scoured through?"

michael_hazarh* The sudden movement didn't draw his eye as she removed the helmet. Quite the contrary really. It was as if he hadn't noticed at all, when she removed the helmet. He continued to eat, until she was finished speaking and then, with cheeks full, he turned to face her, and continued to chew, while thinking over her words. Finally after a moment he swallowed. For a moment he remained silent, merely looking at her. His large frame didn't move, his thick, powerful forearms rested upon the curve of his knees, his back arched slightly, his frame leaning forward only a little. However his gaze was intense, and focused directly upon her, white, fathomless eyes. His nose wrinkled and he seemed to snort at something she said. "Nope," was all he offered. There was no sassy retort, no quick witted response. There wasn't even a defense poised in response to her statement of snatching away her amusement. Did he know where the dead walked? He had no idea, all he knew was that if the dead were up and about, and were causing people trouble, he stepped in and settled it. There was hardly anything amusing about it really, but, he reminded himself that everyone was different and this woman and her scent of death, was quite different from himself, so it was left at that.


True_Lady_Death: He was interesting to watch. Almost animalistic mannerisms he held, intent only on his meat over anything else until she spoke. Blinking up at her with mouth so full, staring at her unmoving, as indeed a predator might upon its prey. His stance as well simply screamed 'something other then human', but this was all she knew. And in the end, it didn't matter did it. Sighing softly she would nod, turning to the door once again, this time fully intent on leaving. " Very well. I thank you for the information." With that she was slipping her helmet on once again, the door opened and a step taken outside, even as a shrill whistle erupted from her lips. The cry of Vassago came from the distance, his hoofbeats echoing even over the harsh winter wind. One more glance she would afford Michael, before she spoke a final time. " You seem to be at peace in your solitude. I admire that." With that she turned to walk into the storm, leaping upon Vassagos back as he came trotting to her, urging him forth towards the next town. Surely, there would be something there..


michael_hazarh* When the door finally opened a vicious wind swept in and threatened the warmth of the home. Both of his eyes narrowed faintly against the onslaught. Winter winds forced shards of ice and snow throughout the air, it was blinding. The tempest beyond the cabin was indeed fierce and yet the interior was not phased at all. When she offered her thanks, all he could offer was a simple nod of his head. A pang of pity was offered to the horse, the snow would be five feet deep in a matter of moments, for it had been snowing since Lady Death had entered his establishment. Already night fell and with it the temperature had plummeted drastically. At peace with his solitude? Such a statement caused him to shake his head. He was at peace with his solitude merely because he knew that he had purpose. In a way people needed his aid, and he was kept busy, and he wasn't permitted to think upon his own lonliness. Though at the mention of it, he had to chuckle lightly to himself. "Peace indeed," he muttered contemplatively as he lifted the whole steak and began to eat it slowly. The winds howled beyond, and his mind returned to the woman. She did not seem phased by the cold, however with such sheets of snow falling so heavily.
It would be nearly impossible to see. The horse was not simply a horse, and he had gathered that, from its presence. However the extents of the creature's power did not offer much assurance to him. In short, he was beginning to have a guilty conscience and he hated it. Once more with a mouth full of finely seasoned, and piping hot meat, he turned his gaze to the door and sighed through his flared nostrils. The meat was laid down upon the silver platter upon the floor, and he ascended to full height, swallowed and cleared his throat. A soft string of mutters departed from his frame, as he ventured out of the living area and made his way to the bedroom where he snatched up a heavy, brown cloak, with a cowel and hood. This was not for him, but for the woman, though a part of him suspected she'd have no need for it. The cloak was folded and slid inside of a side pack, which was looped over one broad shoulder. With that done, he ventured to the front door, and eased it open. Instantly the chill washed over him, and he paced out and raised his eyes towards the large shards of ice that pelted down upon his frame. Both of his hazel eyes narrowed, as he muttered and stepped out into the snow. Instantly he sank down three feet, as he began to plow forward, trailing the scent of the woman, who had moments before departed into the blizzard.

[Lillith]

True_Lady_Death: The storm was indeed moving to large proportions. Snow whipping about her frame as she sat within her saddle. Though the snow was quite deep in many places, Vassagos sure footing kept him upon a path that was easy, though he would continue to snort out his agitation that his Mistress had chosen this mundane way of travel. The oh so bitter cold touched neither steed or rider, she working her fingers through Vassagos mane to ease his fretting. Her eyes would be trained ahead, her thoughts perhaps should have been upon the village the man had spoke of. But they weren't, much to her chagrin. They were upon this man named Michael. He was an interesting one. Quiet, seeking to live his life as many a human did, but he was so far from it. Why? Why would one wth obvious Power of some sort wish to simply live as one of those so weak? A low growl would eminate past red lips, tossing her head as if this gesture would remove any thoughts of he strange man from her mind. Yet a scowl would form upon her brow, reigning Vassago in to a stop, her head lowering somewhat. He was following her..


michael_hazarh* He was what he was, and he had never denied that. Not for a moment. There was something within him that he had grown to understand. An odd brand of compassion that he had allowed to manifest and take hold of him. It had been there when he had needed to aid the villagers, it had been there, when he had needed to help the lost within the forest. It was unlike many of his kind, the younger pups who growled snapped and attacked any who entered their much, vaunted territory. No, he was older, and perhaps even wiser. Wasn't that what The Father, had said? Such a thing had made him chuckle. Michael was not a particularly bright man, when it came to diplomacy, or politics, or even social conversation. However his ears were keen and his wits were almost always about him. And even admist the presence of the one who had made it all happen he had to laugh. Wise? Not Michael, what would his brother had said? What would Malakai think, of him following a woman out into nearly six feet of snow, a woman who had the stink of death wafting from her and her every gesture. Did it matter? Was his brother still alive? Such things were forced away, for another time. Right now, he saw the horse stop and he as well stopped. Both of his keen hazel eyes narrowed a bit, as his nose wrinkled, the scent of the female and the rider, easily alerting him to her presence, where his eyes could barely see them. She knew he was there. Once more he found himself standing in one place without much to say. However he had come out for a reason. The cloak was bundled within the large pack at his side, and he took in a great breath of the cold crisp air and drew forward through the snow steadily. Slowly, he eased the pack open and migrated next to the stallion, hoping that this time, the horse was more at ease in his presence. The cloak was lifted, it was thick, fur lined and more suitable for cold travel than the meager straps of leather that decorated her frame. "It's a five mile trek throughout this snow, and you'll be trudging through eight feet of snow by the time you meet the next mile," he stated. Snow covered his head, shoulders and features, but he didn't seem to care. His gaze fled to the horse, the agitation felt, from the both of them. Though he was far from clear on the lady's irritation. Had he known that it was due to him, he would have been dumbfounded. The cloak was offered up. "I have a stall, it's dry and well kept... I use to care for horses, there's a large pasture a mile out from behind my home," he said easily enough, in explanation.



True_Lady_Death: Her own eyes would narrow as well beneath her helm, a sneer working over lush tiers. What a fool. She was far from concerned about his welfare out in weather such as this. She was more concerned about the fact he was -following- her. She had saught information, and he had given it. Was that not enough? Maybe a warrior instinct within him had sparked to life. " Not on my watch.. " his words echoed through her mind. Obviously he felt himself some great protector, saving the hapless villagers from the Undead that had a tendency to wipe such places out. Perhaps he wished to not share his victories.. Her head would turn to gaze down upon him as he eased forth next to herself and Vassago, both horse and rider covered in snow, only an occasional glint of deep dark armor now beneath the frigid flakes, her scowl deepening more. Vassago though, he did calm somewhat, knowing exactly what it was that Michael offered up. Though the War Horse held deep magic, impervious to such things as the weather, he was no fool. He knew quite well that they could come to the village in but a thought, and found it highly irritating that his Mistress had chosen such a meager way of traveling. His head would bounce up and down, she knowing what her steed was thinking. Not a blink would be given as she slid free from the saddle, staring hard upon Michael, not accepting the cloak. " I have no need to worry on this storm. It seems however that Vassago is of a different mind. He wishes to take you up on your offer. I.. can continue on my own."

michael_hazarh* "Vassago is it?" he inquired, as he turned to the horse and extended a large hand towards the thick, column of the beast's neck. Now for most animals and Katah' Rei there was a unique bond. The bond could be far different between a steed who was so magically inclined, and endowed. However Michael was a calming presence, even for his size and his power. And indeed if anyone would truly understand how strong Michael was, it would not be Vassago's mistress, it would be Vassago himself. The beast's after all knew their own, in more ways than one. He would sweep the snow from the horses mane and smiled thoughtfully. "It'd be good to have some company," he offered, as he leaned forward towards Vassago, and whispered softly, in a tongue that was not for the ears of the upright. He spoke the words of the beast and Vassago would understand it, The Lady would not "My apologies for not being able to offer you better lodgings, you are quite large, but given time I can make a comfortable home for you while you remain with me," he offered unto Vassago comfortably. Just the same, he would turn his, sleek hazel eyes towards the woman. If she chose to slip to the village to hunt for the undead, she was more than welcome to. The village was nuetral ground, and most definately not a part of his stalking grounds. He only aided them when he felt he was needed.
"The storm may take some time..." he paused and sighed, and then shook his head and muttered beneath his breath to Vassago "She is not fond of me it would seem," he stated. "The invitation remains extended. It doesn't make much sense to have me keep and care for Vassago, and for you to trundle about the snow by yourself," he stated. Not a smart man as far as diplomacy was concerned, and he was probably treading on thin ice as it was. However even he knew what made sense and what didn't. Just the same he did continued. "I would think it'd be more convenient to wait out the storm in shelter with your beloved Vassago," he offered, as he swept more snow from the horse's muzzle. The next part wasn't meant to be an insult, however it did easily explain why Michael did not live in a city and talk often. "Even an animal is wise enough to keep his head low out of the storm," he stated rather matter-of-factly. "But, I suppose you have your business elsewhere.." he decided.


True_Lady_Death: Vassagos ears would prick upon the speech that Michael let forth, nickering softly in return. Answering as animal to animal, much to her chagrin. She would hiss softly, her arms crossing beneath the bounty of her breasts, managing to almost look much like a spoiled child as she witnessed Vassago become so keen upon this man. " Traitor.." she would seethe softly to her horse, looking Michael over coldly. Vassago, her one true companion, the one who ever remained at her side, swayed by the offer of a warm stable no less! Speaking to the man in words she did not understand.. hiding things from her. As Michael spoke, her annoyence only crept up further. Moving towards the village was not something she -had- to do. She simply wanted to, if only to rid herself of this man who was so calm, so willing to care for those that did not need it. However.. she refused to allow Vassago to get the upper hand over her. Her steed was making a point. As she continued to gaze through the worsening storm in the direction the village stood, she spoke in low tones, though the timbre oved through the heavy sounds of the blizzard easily enough to Michaels ears. " Indeed I do. yet I will not allow Vassago to remain attended by another. It seems he's made up his mind. I will reside in the stable with him until this storm subsides."

michael_hazarh* The word 'traitor' caught his ear and he chuckled lightly. Slowly he raised his head as the snow continued to fall around his dark featutres. She was standing there, quite defiant, quite set on her ways. Her reasons were her own and for a moment he began to think. Quite the change of pace for him really. Usually his actions were guided by instinct and simple reasoning. Now however his brain began to tinker together and form ideas as to why this woman was so very odd, and so very detached from all else. Perhaps it was that smell, that odd aroma that reminded him so much of a bloodied battle field. Who knew? At her last remark he chuckled. "Fair enough..." he stated as he would lead the way back to the sanctuary, of wood and timber. She was an odd one indeed, and he really couldn't place his finger on it. Though just the same, he had never really been a people person to begin with. It was just as well. Vassago would be lead around to the back of the quaint home, and the gate would be eased open. The stall was mildly cramped, but comfortable, and afforded protection from the snow. "You know... " he stopped right there and smiled as he glanced at Vassago "She prefers the stall like you, it would seem," he offered to the horse, in amusement. He seemed indeed to get along with animals more so than he did people. A large bag of oats was lifted and slid upon an old, steel hook. "Eat up," he offered, audibly. A glance over his shoulder was offered. "There's still some meat left, unless you'd prefer to share the oats with Vassago?" he teased harmlessly. It seemed that he did have a sense of humor in spite of his often quiet stance.
Still, perhaps it wasn't in his best interests to go teasing a woman who wore battle gear as casual wear, and branded a sword the size of an average man on her hip. Nevertheless that rationale never really entered his mind. Perhaps he was a bit vapid at times, or perhaps it was merely that he didn't care. Nevertheless the stall was warm, and moderately comfortable. He even went through the work of lifting one of the large wooden walls, and placing it farther away from the other to offer a bit more room between them. The gates were adjusted and soon enough there was more than enough room for the both of them. With a bit of a snort, he unclasped the bag and extended the cloak. "Well she won't take it, do you want it Vassago?" he inquired, as he hefted up the warm, fur lined cloak. "It's warmer here, but it's going to get worse throughout the night." he offered as he draped the large cloak over the animal's frame. "Try to talk some sense into your lady friend. Tell her there's food and a warm fire inside."he offered as he scratched gently behind Vassago's right ear. "Well... take care." he offered as he left the stall and ventured for the back door of his home.


True_Lady_Death: She would follow behind Vassago and Michael, glaring at the both of them pointedly. What exactly was it about this man that made Vassago so keen upon him? Was it the speech they could both share so easily? Beast to beast.. another deeper scowl would ease across her features beneath her helm, even as the trio entered the stable. Michael cooing over Vassago softly, setting the now obviously conent horse within his stall as she simply stood by. The snow would begin to melt off of her skin, water glistening upon white flesh not covered in steel, dripping off her lengthy hair, slipping in droplets from her armour. She would say nothing to Michael as he slipped from the stable, giving him but a sidelong glance before he made his way into his home. Glaring at Vassago, her hands would come to her helm, lifting it from her head, shaking her snowy tresses into silken freedom. " What are you thinking!" she would seethe at her horse, recieving but a snort in return. What are -you- thinking.. .. that was what that snort meant. Though Vassago was one of the famed steeds of the Four Horseman, his magic intense, his need for Battle screaming through him much as she, he was still but an animal. And all animals needed comfort at times. This was his message to her, and she could do nothing but glare. Snarling she would turn to the stable door, staring at it. She should simply stay within these walls, wait out this storm that Vassago found just so cold.. but she found herself slipping outside, making her way to the cabin, easing in front of a window to gaze within at Michael. He had a story.. she just knew it.


michael_hazarh* Michael was inside, setting a few odds and ends in order within the kitchen. Whether the lady was comfortable or not was no longer his concern, however, it did bring about a rather amusing fit of mutterings. "stubborn woman, doesn't know how to keep her nose clean. She's a pup," he offered first as pots and pans banged about in obvious aggravation. "So stuck in her own ways, she can't see the writing on the wall, when someone tries to help," he offered as he slid the pans onto the stove in a clamour. In a hurried, stomping fit, he threw his hands up. "What more does someone have to do to be hospitable?" he inquired to himself, though his voice was a bit of a roar over the crackle over the fire place. "Is the meat not good enough, the cabin not warm enough, is the weather not cold enough to drive you inside?" he muttered as he sat down and reached for an old, hand carved pipe. He dusted the ashes into a bin at the side of his chair and shook his head, muttering past the lacquered end of the pipe as he began to stuff tobacco into the well. Slowly he sank back into the comfort of the large chair, before the fire, as he closed his eyes and seemed to attempt to relax. The muttering continued for a bit, and it was more out of frustration than out of any true anger at the woman. Though there was a bit of anger directed at himself, for even bothering to be that upset about the situation at the first place. All in all it seemed that there was more to him than just the calm, composed man she had seen before. In fact it seemed that she had indeed managed to push a few of his buttons. How she had done it, however was something even he wasn't aware of. It was just the same, soon enough he was quietly humming, and puffing away at the simple woodne pipe. A rather well carved pipe, with small depictions of battle carved marvelously along the entirety of it. The detail was quite amazing and it seemed to tell a story of dragons and wars and conquest. The smoke filled the room with a sweet, pleasant aroma and for the moment he had been too caught up in his own frustration to realize that he had been watched throughout it all. However now, when his wits were gathered and he was calm, his nostrils flared, his eyes opened and he sighed past the pipe. "Wonderful," he muttered, as he leaned forward and rubbed his large, rough hands together. "I said you can come in!" he offered loudly enough for her to hear over the roar of the fireplace. How much of his antics she had seen or heard he had no idea, and he was almost loathe to even think about it. Just the same, he would act just as naturally and hope for the best.


True_Lady_Death: Her brow would loft as she watched him move about his quaint little home, hearing quite well the mutterings that issued forth about her. And she had to shake her head a bit. Was he so sheltered then? Did he not understand what it felt like to be in the heat of Battle? Alive! Yes, that was what it did for her. It was in fact, the only time she felt so. Yet this man seemed to be able to garner such a feeling by simply.. existing. Sighing softly, she would continue to watch him, the way he rumbled in obvious discontent about her, the way he managed to settle down into slight contentment again with his pipe before noting her presence at his window. Yes, he had said she could wander within. And she would. The door would ease open, she setting foot within to push the door closed again, sealing the storm away once again. Standing there dripping again, her helm having been left in the stables, her face open to him now. Melted snow dropping from her ivory skin, falling from her now quite wet hair, pooling at her booted feet upon the floor. Making a mess. Her visage gazed upon him, her jaw set in a slightly hard line, moonlit pools boring into him. " What are you." To the point. Michael had spoken to Vassago in a language she did not share with her beast, and this along with the fact she could sense more about him then mere humanity set forth her question.

michael_hazarh* She entered in a glorious wave of cold weather and moisture and his nose wrinkled at the water that pooled about her booted feet. Slowly his hazel eyes ascended to the features of her face, but he did not say a word. No, all he did was continue to puff contemplatively at the pipe that was placed between his lips. The soft rings of smoke ascended and danced about his features as he slid, his right hand over to the small stand at his side, where a long candle resided and burned silently. He slid a long stick upon the flame and waited for it to heat, and then he dipped the flaming end against the tobacco again to rekindle the flame, which brought more of the pleasant aroma to fill the room. The question came and he did not move, nor did he say a word. Slowly however his mind began to work, over the last encounter he had had with a wanderer. The man had come so very humbly only to be so much more than he could ever have imagined. Katah' Rei himself had sat within his home, spoken with him and left his mark and he wondered idly if this was somehow a part of the old man's plan. Was such a thing possible? For the first time since he encountered this woman he looked at her as if she were just that. A woman. Those keen animalistic eyes ran her form from top to bottom, however they did not seem to focus upon those portions of her that most men would find attractive. Her breasts were ignored completely. However his gaze was directed to her throat, to her jaw and to her arms, trailing along the sinew beneath white flesh. Then his eyes wandered to her stomach, the hard muscle beneath white flesh. Then to the curve of her hips, then to the structure of her thighs, and then to her lower limbs and booted feet. She was strong, physically powerful. The features of his face were still as calm as ever however as he withdrew the pipe from between his lips. "I can't tell you that," he said quite simply. "Your blood is not my blood," was what came next as he tapped the ashes from the pipe, where they drifted down into the waste bin beside him. "The same question could be posed to you," he offered, thoughtfully. "Though I'll not be shocked if you reply in kind." he stated, as his eyes returned to her, this time to her face. She was most definately the pinacle of what a Katah' Rei would imagine a mate to be. Strong, powerful, athletic, her beauty had little to add to the mixture, her hips had a full swell, her body was perfect. That was when he realized his attraction to her, but just the same, he did not act any differently. He was far too old to chase tail so frivalously.

True_Lady_Death: She not only saw but felt his gaze wandering over her, and her chin would lift slightly. There was no lust within his eyes oddly enough. Most of the male persuasion saw her as but female, something for them to conquer between the sheets. Such thoughts generally ended in their demise. So, within her mind, the way he looked upon her could mean but one thing. He was sizing her up for a fight. Yet she did not tense, merely lofting a brow at his short answer to her question. Smooth cadence would carry her forth to the fire, delving her peircing gaze within the flames. " That much I can tell. As for what I am? I am Death, Sir." She had no fear in opening up that much to him. All should realize what was in their presence. A warning perhaps? No. Simply an answer. The wetness that surrounded her would begin to dry from the heat pouring from the fire, her long mane beginning to curl somewhat, gleaming in the light much as her skin. Her tone would drop a bit as she spoke yet again, spoke words that indeed were hard won from one such as she. " Vassago seems to have taken quite a shine to you. An enigma I assure you. But I thank you for your kindness towards him. He is being overly stubborn I fear."

[Lillith]

michael_hazarh* When she mentioned that she was death, he took a moment to consider that. The way she said it, and presented it, it could have meant a great many things. However he was old enough and perhaps wise enough to truly gather what she meant. Nevertheless, he was not phased. Death was a part of life, and it was not something that was to be feared for his kind. It was survival of the fittest. If she were to kill him, then he was weaker and his life ended to pave the way for the stronger to come forth. That was how he lived that was how many of his kind lived. However he did turn to face her, and when she mentioned the horse, his right hand ascended and his thick, rough fingertips took hold of the pipe and removed it from between his full lips. A wave of smoke parted forth from his mouth and nostrils as he shook his head. "I think you've got it the other way around. Vassago is a very wise being," he stated, rather matter-of-factly. "It seems to be that it's his rider that is the stubborn one," he offered. Now the way he said it was calmly, without a snide tone or some malicious glare to his sleek, hazel eyes. However the fact that he did seem so very assure of his answer, might be insulting to some. It had not been his intention really, he did not maen to insult the woman. It was merely that Michael's ineptitude at dealing with people on a social level, often had him speaking of people and situations as he saw them. She had been stubborn in his eyes, Vassago had been the one with enough sense to want to come in out of the cold. Who was the wiser of the two? To Michael it was the horse. Nevertheless he would say little else on the matter before he tapped the ashes out into the bin at his side. "I get along well with animals," was all he added, very simply.

True_Lady_Death: Upon his retort at who was the one being stubborn, her eyes would narrow, turning her head to stare at him over her shoulder, rich red lips thinned. A harsh response was already upon her tongue, yet she managed to swallow it down, allowing her a moment to study him as he sat there so calmly. Know ones enemys. But, as of yet, he had done absolutely nothing to make him seem such towards her. She would give a snort, once again looking within the fire, arms crossing beneath the bounty of milky breasts, a smooth hip cocking slightly. " You are a bit mistaken I'm afraid. Though, my stubborness runs just as deep as my steeds perhaps, he didn't want to get out of the cold I assure you. We are not affected by such things, neither of us feel it. He has his own agenda, and I'll find out what it is soon enough.." Finally she would turn, once again allowing her eyes to drink in the small cabin, even as Michael spoke yet again, of knowing animals. This would give her pause, her brow furrowing slightly, giving a small nod. " I can understand why. You have the scent of beast about you, and it is not from simply being around them. Intriguing.. to say the least."

michael_hazarh* When her ire sparked he took notice of it, but he did not move, nor did he respond in any way. Much like a lazy animal, seated upon the chair, looking at her, with interest, but not with malice or any sort of intention upon his mind. It was difficult to read him, at least it would be for a woman whose existence revolved around Death. The pipe was placed between his full lips once more as she began to speak. A soft chuckle departed forth from him and it filled the cabin with a surprising amount of mirth as he slid the pipe out of his mouth. Once more his words came with a tide of sweet smelling smoke. "Always an agenda," he mused. "Each beast has his agenda, but, it's more simple than you think at times," he stated. "I can't speak for him, he is a different breed indeed," he stated. "However if Vassago has an agenda..." he chuckled, almost as if talking about an old friend. "Then I fear the worst." he offered with another friendly chuckle. "You know you can take a seat if you'd like," he offered as he turned and finally sat the pipe aside. "I think by now you've gathered that I'm not going to hurt you... or." his eyes rolled over towards her casually. "Attempt to rather.." he offered with a wrinkle of his nose. It was almost a look of bemusement upon his face. It wasn't as though he was doubting her prowess in battle. Perhaps it was somewhat of an unspoken challenge, perhaps not. It was incredibly difficult to read him, however he did seem to be making light of some situation, maybe even of her. It was indeed difficult to say. As for her statement of smelling like a beast, he merely smiled and said nothing, a knowing, almost taunting smile. Yes, this definately was a declaration of battle, in some simple way or another.

True_Lady_Death: At the offer to sit she would pointedly gaze about he room once again, seeing only the chair he currently resided in, and a small couch next to him. She made no comment on his declaration of not hurting her, yet as was her want at all times, tension was singing through her. His offer was to simply sit and chat, as if they perhaps they could have a spot of tea and talk about the weather. She was far from a social butterfly, but she indeed, was stubborn. She would not leave without Vassago, and her horse had decided he liked the warm stable. Oh he would pay. With a low grumble to herself she would deign to sit, taking the far side of the couch, as far away from Michael as she could get. It was obvious there was no comfort within her, her back straight, the armor she was encased in not allowing her to cross her legs. His little smile was noted as well, and she simply eyed him. He was playing games, at least in her eyes, and she was far from pleased with the situation. Silence filled the room, the tension pouring from her one would be able to cut with a knife. Her eyes remained trained out the window towards the stable, waiting for Vassago to come to his senses, so they might resume their Hunt.

michael_hazarh* The mannerisms and her expressions actually caused him to chuckle a bit. The tension at least from her was so thick he could almost taste it. It was a wonder how she managed to survive for as long as she did, when she was so tightly wound. Not once since she had encountered him had he shown any brand of hostility, or anything other than kindness. Yet she was uncomfortable and tense. "Do you ever relax?" he inquired curiously as he turned away from her. Both of his eyes focused upon the dancing flames within the fireplace, and the smile upon his face diminished a little. "You act as though you're surrounded by enemies. Though I suppose it's just as well." he offered as he turned to face her. "You hardly know me," he did, confirm finally. "Though I would think that someone who was so intimate with Death, would hardly be tense, in any situation where she might lose her life," he offered. The irony of it was even within his grasp and that notion caused his smile to rise once more upon his rough features. A deep breath was taken, the pleasant smell of the pipe smoke still lingered warmly within the air. The cool wintery snow still cascaded heavily down beyond the warm walls of the cottage. "Well..." he offered as he leaned forward. "You don't seem to enjoy my company, maybe I can convince your companion to save you from this life threatening situation," he offered once more. The big lummox did have a sense of humor, and he was moderately aware that it was falling upon deaf ears. A part of him mused at the idea of her face cracking if she actually smiled, but he made no mention of it. After all if a battle were waged, he'd rather it be outside, than in his home. And so he would migrate out of the living room. Comfortable enough to once more turn his back to a woman who called herself Death. An interesting concept, however he had known many a pup, with gal enough to call themselves such superfluous titles. The only difference was however, this woman smelled of it, stank of it. It didn't trouble him, death was a part of life, it was an end and a beginning. That was how life worked, the back door would be eased open and he would migrate out into the stall and sigh. "Well my friend, it seems that the both of us are going to have our asses fried if we continue this game," he offered as he leaned back into the wall and crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his mighty chest. "Though come to think of it she did mention an 'agenda'.. " he chuckled. " You wouldn't have any idea what she's talking about would you?" he offered, slipping comfortably into conversation with Vassago. At least the horse had personality.

True_Lady_Death: As he spoke again, her head would whip in his direction, gauging him thoughtfully with his every word. It was beyond her as to why he was being so very friendly. He spoke of understanding her to some degree, but he still continued to allow little jibes into his speeches, ones that she knew he was -very- aware she would catch. When he finally did leave to make his way to the stables, her body would relax, standing immediatly, staring at the door he'd left through. Her hands would clench at her sides as a snarl curled lush lips, berating herself. Easily enough she could have made Vassago do as she wished, headed towards the village. Yet it was she that had allowed this little scene to play out. Why? Was it because of the sheer simplicity that Michael seemed to live with? Something she had had.. once.. long ago. Something that she maybe longed for again, but had come to realize would never be a part of her existence again. To simply be Hope.. once again. NO! She had fought to long and hard to gain what she had now.. Even as she turned to make her way out the door towards the stable herself, Vassago was nuzzling Michael, assuring him that his Mistress was simply a hard nut to crack. A very hard and shriveled up one at that..


michael_hazarh* Michael chuckled fondly and fawned over Vassago, and sighed simply. "Well, your mistress is an odd one at that," he stated as he settled down onto one of the simple benches and raised his eyes to the fierce weather beyond. A heavy sigh departed from between his lips. "She's strong though, no denying that," he admitted with a bit of a chuckle. "She reminds me of the women I knew back home," he offered as his large hands rubbed together, thoughtfully. The weather had not gotten any better, but he didn't seem to mind it. "Just the same, I'd hate to see you get turned into glue, because you're plotting something," he offered. "Survival of the fittest doesn't always mean strongest, sometimes smartest applies too," he offered. "So far I've been lucky and I've made it on muscle alone," he chuckled, joking at his own lack of superior intellect. Michael had keen senses, more keen than most creatures could ever hope to achieve. However the fierce winds and the murky, dull smell of the stall, overshadowed the presence of The Lady Death, and mingled with her former presence within the home. She had been in the stall and in his house and her scent was everywhere. Further more Michael sincerely doubted that she would come out into the stable to join him, when she seemed so rediculously adamant in staying as far away from him as possible. "She reminds me of a wounded wolf," he offered. "Snapping and snarling at anything or anyone that tries to get close," he offered. "Not hard to understand, she must have been wounded pretty badly at some point," he stated. Now whether he spoke of a physical wound or an emotional wound was hard to discern. However with the tone of his voice it seemed that Michael had some insight at least, and thought of the heart, more so than the body. Perhaps Vassago would pick up on that.


True_Lady_Death: A soft wicker from Vassgo, agreement with everything Michael had to say about the Lady of Death. There would be no worries on being 'turned to glue', for the bond between horse and rider was intense. Vassago was the only Being that the Lady had any trust or feelings for, and always would. She would come to the door of the stables just as Michael spoke of her wounded self, yet she would not linger outside and spy. No, she would step defiantly within, stride taking her to the other side of Vassago, moonlit eyes boring upon Michael from over her mounts back. Fingers would come up to toy with Vassagos mane, leaning into his great bulk as if taking the strength from him to remain near Michael and not start a fight. " None before you have been able to converse with him as I do. I'm sure he's managed to fill your head with all sorts of things about me. Or perhaps, you've simply come to your own conclusions.." There was no malice within her tone this time, oddly enough, easing her eyes away to lift Vassagos chin lovingly and place a kiss upon the silky softness of his nose, even as she murmured something about staying out of her business..


michael_hazarh* When she finally emerged from the warmth of the home, he managed to pick up her scent with more clarity. He regarded her with a turn of his head and watched as she ventured to the side of Vassago and leaned into the side of the great beast. Michael smiled and lifted his head. "I do my best to keep from jumping from conclusions, and I think you and I both know that Vassago is too close to you, to offer any information that would make someone think ill of you," he stated rather sensibly. "But he has confirmed a great deal of my former thoughts," he stated as he leaned forward. In a soft whisper that was meant only for Vassago he spoke. "Maybe you should stop the game and take her away," he stated, tiredly. "You and I both know that I'm not the kind of man who has a talent for cracking anything other than skulls and bones. Besides I'm not a big fan of nuts anyway," he offered as he offered a pat to Vassago's head. "I hope she finds what she's looking for, but I'm too old to try and make a mate, out of a woman who just won't have it," he stated with a comfortable smile. "My loss I suppose," he offered. He raised his head and spoke to Death this time. "You're free to come and go as you like, as I said before, but I think it's time I get some rest, I'll be making my trip to the village tommorrow as well." He stated, as he offered Vassago another pat on the back of the head, running his thick fingertips through the horse's mane kindly before he turned. "If you decide to stay, the doors are always unlocked," he stated. An open invitation, that he doubted she'd take. The weather had not become any kinder, but he had expected as much. Slowly he ventured into the warmth of his home and migrated past the living room and the fire place to the cozy little bedroom, where he sat down and then flopped onto his back. Sleep did not come swiftly, but he did rest, while thinking and looking up at the cieling, contemplatively.