MIDNIGHT MARRED.

Kol watched the kid’s little tyrade at him, his words rolling off the blonde and not leaving a scratch. He could pontificate all he wanted about what he thought he knew about witches and Kol himself based on one brief, barely there conversation or from Kol’s about four words in total, but he knew jack shit in reality and it made Kol laugh. “Pot calling the kettle black.” He shook his head, utterly amused by it all. 

“You don’t know me kid, or anything about me or where I’m from or just how high and mighty I think myself. So why don’t you stop making grand assumptions about what you think you know and instead start focusing on your control.” Kol pointed out smoothly, gesturing to the dying ground around him.

He noticed the female dragon standing in the doorway but paid her no mind. Kol wasn’t on her land, or talking to her pet it seemed so he wasn’t breaking any rules and besides, dragons were all brute force, no fineness. He knew how to incapacitate one should the need arise. “You want to know why you suck so bad? Because you’re just and angry little brat. Learn to take a step back, calm the fuck down and listen to your magic and you might have a better chance of using it. I’ve been where you are, hell probably still am in some respects but I’ve got control through dedication and hard work. So pretend you know me all you like, but you could really learn if you actually tried.” Kol shrugged. He wasn’t going to waste his time on someone else’s problem, time would tell if the boy actually learned anything. Kol had far more interesting things to do with his time than waste effort trying to teach a brat who didn’t want to learn. 

Kol wasn’t even phased by the kid’s words. It seemed some pets couldn’t even shake their attitude even after being claimed, maybe his master wasn’t good to him or maybe he was too good to him, either way the witch didn’t care. “Its all just blood and brutality, nothing entertaining about it unless they put a competent witch into the ring, then its a show.” Kol shrugged, knowing that the kid’s words had been to get him to leave but he answered them anyway because that was likely to get another rise out of him. Kol loved watching people get angry. 

“Why should I offer up anything helpful when all you’ve done is insult me and show me you’re hardly worth helping in the first place. Half blood or not, that was a pathetic performance.” Kol replied with a smirk, trying to rile the other up and really see what his magic was like. Novices always depended on heightened emotions to produce even the most basic of spells, true masters of magic like Kol himself understood magic to the core. 

“Blood and brutality.” Sammael gestured at him dismissively. “Blind arrogance and stupidity. Same coin, different sides. You’d still shit yourself like the rest of us if a Witcher came for you,” he challenged. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he took a step forward. “The old hag that rule over your lot still can put fear in your heart. Our breed is dying. Rare in number. You’d think with that some of the elite who can call themselves a witch would be a little more humbled.” He burned with excess power that swirled from deep inside of him. Unchecked it threatened to spill over and ignite. “My mother is just like you. All full-bloodied and thinking she has the right to have her nose turned up.”

“You all should be grateful that the others don’t decide to wipe us out completely.” He took another step. The grass under his feet wilted and started to die within a circle around his form. He was shaking with rage. “And here I am, a half-witch who can see that because I’m not blinded by my own head being up my own as-”

“Sammael.”

Daeron: I'll, uh, take the ugly one.

They fight as one. Two sides of the same coin, they provide perfect balance to one another. Zyia the fire tamer and Praxas the blood claimer. A mated pair of warriors who hail from Adrahil and gladly bend a knee to Daeron. One of the dragon-born’s by themselves could be considered a deadly adversary. Together it would be ill-advised to bring their combined skill against you. While not reasonable for the safety of Daeron, the two could be considered extreme loyalists of his reign. By extension, they are protective of all considered precious by Daeron. This is extended to even Sammael. In this manner, the pair have been assigned to be the witch’s personal bodyguards of sorts while in Adrahil - and beyond. Too best describe them is to say that Praxas is the unforgiving flame while Zyia s the brazier in which he burns safety. 

Zyia is calm, collective and highly intelligent. A skilled warrior with short blades and archery as she is with her claws. Praxas is abrasive, honest and stubborn. His strength lies in the mastery of war hammers and great swords. Weapons that require a feat of strength to wield effective and leaves behind brutal results. 

THOUGHTS ON SAMMAEL

Zyia is highly amused by the witch. She likes his fire that burns defiantly in his eyes. Being such a tall dragon-born, it is very amusing to see so much bite coming form so short an individual in comparison. She practices patience with him and knows that after a while he will learn how to be a proper Adrahilian. Her mate, however, is highly distrustful of Sammael. He does not give him the same benefits as Zyia. Brash and cold to the pet, Praxas would much rather have his mate deal with the witch. Often times, Praxas doesn’t even acknowledge Sammael’s existence. However, with the careful guidance of his mate, Praxas is beginning to change that. He guesses that the little fragile pet has some endearing qualities. But, one has to squint very hard in order to see them.

Sammael: Fear of death?

Daeron: Fear of death.

Daeron: I wasn't going to kill him!

Sammael: Why are you talking?

Daeron: I'm just trying to explain -

Sammael: WHY ARE YOUR LIPS MOVING?

Kol had been passing by when he felt the energies of magic shift in the air. He always liked watching other witch’s work and so followed the magical signature until he came across the scene of a young man, attempting to use his gifts. It made the elder witch smirk as he leaned against a nearby tree and just watched.

It was impressive to be sure, for what he could only assume to be a halfbreed trying to use what little magical ability he must have. Kol found it sad, to think that a half breed could only taste magical ability and never really feast on it. He’d damn well kill himself before he ever gave up his own magic to that pathetic degree. But still, props to the kid for trying.

He chuckled at the boy’s frustration, raising a brow when he tossed a rock and missed. “Valiant efforts love but your energy is all wrong. You’ll never master true potential with an attitude like that, but do keep trying. It’s quite entertaining.” He grinned roguishly. 

“If you want entertainment, go to the fuckin’ arena,” Sammael snapped even as the victim of his rock cursed at him on their exit. He stood up and straightened his robes before he looked over his shoulder at the one who had spoken. It was annoying that even when confined to the grounds, he still had to deal with the entitled of the city. 

It was a brief moment but he played with the idea of burning the other witch’s robes from his body. Fire he was good at, a very factual thing that his Master could give testimony to. The pet started to realize how much hate he had for others of his kind. 

To leave behind Aeternum had lifted something off the dragon’s chest, it seems. Because he feels his chest less constricted. It’s a feeling he can recognise in Yana’s face too. In the curl at the corners of her lips that Daeron knows to be a smile. She has her legs kicked up on the nearest empty seat, red eyes looking out the window with some longing.

Neither of them loves the aircrafts. Daeron suspects that might be a mutually shared feeling by all dragons. It feels wrong, somehow, to be trapped in a metal can that’s hardly half your true size and yet it fies you. Offence raised up quick in his chest and Daeron showed none of it on his face.

Sammael on other hand has no problems voicing his thoughts. And he has them.

He has plenty of them.

His pet has talked off the ear of anyone that’s willing or unwilling to listen but had the mishap to be in the close vicinity. Daeron’s initial concern for Sammael’s well being had been brief. Once the witch was wrapped in enough fur that ensured he was as well dressed as he could be the dragon cared very little about what other offences the  halfling managed to bring up.

His latest whine brought an actual smile on Daeron’s mouth. One that’s saved just for his whining. It’s barely a twist on the line of his lip, almost always accompanied by a sharp jerk of his brows and the look on his eye is patiently mocking.

“Faith forbids the most important of them freeze first.” The dragon narrowed his head. “What use would we have of you then.”

He can see his sister turning her head just a little, trying to hide a smile. The guard that’s been chosen to make sure Sammael arrives at Adrahil living and breathing tossed them both a look and decides it’s the perfect time to scram. She seems to think Sammael is amusing in that way Daeron recognises in most of his people, and the way Sammael thinks is yet another thing to grumble at.

The dragon is hardly surprised, the witch has a lot to learn about their ways, but he’ll learn and Daeron is patient.

“You’ll get used to it.” The cold had a way of growing on you, eventually, it just settled deep in your bones. You could fight it or accept it, and only one of those paths was manageable. His mother had made sure to ingrain those words in her son’s enough that Daeron now had trouble thinking of them as anything other but his own.

The ship rocked to a bumpy dock, the back door opened with a hiss of releasing pressure.

“If your witch slows us down I am going to eat him. Frozen or not,” Yana noted when she moved past them, the seriousness of her tone might have made the jest behind an elusive thing to Sammael but Daeron saw it as just the moment to look at the pet and arch a brow.

Dragon humor might take some getting used to as well.

“Come on. It’s at least an hour ride to the castle.” He prompted him stepping outside. The horses,  strong legged mounts with thick fur stepped from one leg to another impatient. Above them, Adrahil’s tops were lost in the white clouds.

Their relievement had not gone as unnoticed as the others may have thought it did. He had observed it during his attempt to distract himself from their great height, but he had seen how it had been replaced by annoyance. All of the dragon’s who had come with Daeron had the same appearance of annoyance —- almost offense of their current mode of travel. He had wisely held his tongue during the trudge forward toward their homeland. It could always been used for another time against the dragon.

Sammael had felt heavy with the furs and frozen until he had seen that smile Daeron often wore around him. His blood boiled and the glare he aimed could kill if it had the power. “I’ll just show you how useful I can be when they’re pulling my foot out of your ass,” the witch snapped back. Sammael folded his arms tightly about his broad chest as if he were a stubborn child.

It made the guard, Zyia, softly chuckle before she had tossed them both a look. He watches her leave him and wanders if he’d ever see her again.

His attentions are drawn back to Daeron. “You’ll get used to it,” parroted the witch. He looks offended at the notion that he had to get used to the ice at all. He wondered what could even survive in the frost besides the dragon’s who were so filled with hot air they should be floating. He attempts to grip the fur’s tighter around his form. The fear of what winter would be like in the climate made him feel like he had already frozen to death. “You couldn’t be like the other lizards and rule over something more tropical. Maybe somewhere near the ocean? You would rule over something like this.”

Sammael halted his onslaught when Yana’s threat to eat him registered with him. He grunted and stared at the fog that formed from his heated breath as it exited his lips. “I’ll make sure you choked on me on the way down,” he mutters with no care if either dragon overhears him or not. He glares at her when she moved past him. He hoped she slipped and fell.

He hoped they all slipped and fell. Into a frozen lake filled with dragon eating fish. What had been those fish Daeron once told him about? Sharks? He hoped there were dragon eating sharks. “The witch has a name too,” he adds under his breath.

Aeternum was long behind him; it faded into obscurity as if it had never existed. He had been relieved to leave behind the looming shadow of the tower, but there was a piece of him that still attempted to cling to it. Frightened to let go of the familiar in order to prepare for the unknown that laid ahead. He had not felt this aimless since the resistance had secreted him beyond the wall. There was still an anchor in the land under his feet when that had happened. Out here, among the clouds and drawing nearer to something he’d never laid eyes on before, he was adrift. 

He had been defensive at every turn. Drawn into himself, he had snapped back into his old trait of annoying others with his sharp tongue. The cold hadn’t helped with his temperament. The colder it got, the harder it had been to keep him quiet. He had not thought it would be possible for the cold to go beyond anything he had experienced in Aeternum. Winters there only required a coat and a few extra leathers to keep warm against the icy season. Even beyond the wall. Fur had been something he would never thought to be needed until they drew closer to Adrahil. Oh, he made his discomfort well-known to any who would listen.

A sharp tongue and veiled insult at the right time over dinner or within ear shot of crew. Even with the fur around his thickset frame, Sammael could still feel the chill to his bone. And it was a chill that only seemed to become more deeply set as the airship reached its destination. The witch was lost for word as he decided to move off the ship, not wanting to spend one more moment on the horrible flying craft. He was happy to be back on land. Despite how he felt like every appendage felt frozen stiff. His nipples hurt the most with the steel rings that stretched the skin matching the temperature around him. Out of the need for warmth, he had even moved closer to the female guard charged with protecting him. Zyia seemed to be the only female dragon-born that could stand him. Well, it had been more tolerate him.

He found her beautiful and deadly. Traits he had started to see most of Daeron’s people held. He was drawn in by the sights. Sammael turned about to take it all in and he felt that even if he had the whole day to grasp how different already the cultures where, he would still need to stay rooted there longer to see the full scale. The witch looked down and stared at his breath, visible in the cold air. He had lost the feeling in his face almost instantly. He shuddered and drew the furs closer to himself as he shifted away from sea of individuals that flooded the dock. 

“I would highly suggest a focus. One of stone or crystal. You can store power up in there. When it becomes too much. We give them to children who lack control so when they get angry they have a place to store it.” Hans smirked as he looked down at the half witch. So many other species liked magic it seemed. “Your Dominus. He wants what is best for you. Unbridled power can lash back out at you. Which would be a shame. You seem to have some level of skill. Though he shouldn’t fear you turning him into a lizard. That might be a bit beyond your skill level at the moment. Do you want control? A lot of this is based on your wants. Magic shapes the world around you based on your will. I am Lord Branwell by the way.” Hans nodded to the pet and held out his hand. Conjuring a small windstorm in the palm of his hand for the other to see. “What elements can you conjure?” 

Sammael felt an odd need to defend Daeron. There was no need to and Sammael had no reason to want to defend the overgrown lizard. He suspected that the other witch was being insulting in some way. It sounded off. The way Lord Branwell talked to him about magic. Who was he to question it? The man was more into his power then Sammael had been. He obviously cared more about it. 

“For younger witches or half breeds it is most common to have a focus. Like a wand or a staff. For me it was a tome that could hold the energy.” Hans said from outside the fringes of the estate. He was always interested in magic. So when he sensed it he couldn’t help himself but watch. The attempt really hadn’t been bad. Especially for someone who didn’t seem to have any control at all. “A focus will direct the energy better than just your hand. I doubt you can command much raw power, so you might try some piece of jewelry. A large stone set in it. I would try several different kinds. Some gems might be more attuned to your energy than others.” he was only trying to be helpful even if the other didn’t want to control it. “Just some friendly advice from an old man.” 

"I can feel your glaring,” Sammael sighed with exasperation. Though she was no where to be seen, Daeron’s sister had made sure to be a constant annoyance presence. She haunted him. Even in the front courtyard of the estate, he could find no peace. He pushed it out of his mind and tried to focus on the target dummy that Daeron had his servants setup. 

The witch stood straight with hands on either side of him facing palms out with fingers curled. His eyes closed and he attempted to gather the energies around him. Slowly and with much strain on him, dust started to swirl around his palms and gather into a freezing wind. 

Sweat dripped from his brow as he final shoved his hands outward and could only produce a few slivers of ice to embedded into the target. Sammael glared at the target and though tired, stumbled to pick up a stone and toss it at it’s head - missing and instead smacking one of the elven servants with the rock instead.

Yakul had not been expecting the response that he got from the male that answered the door, making the elf’s eyes narrow a bit. He did not appreciate the glare he was receiving, let alone it being the first thing he was met with when visiting another masters home. However, he wasn’t about to reciprocate such rudeness, especially on first impressions. “I’m here to see Daeron.” he answered simply before a slight smirk fell on his face.

Now just because he wasn’t going to be rude, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give the male a little friendly advice. “But while I have you, most would do well not to greet strangers in such a manner.” he mused as he stepped closer to the male, a hand moving to the hilt of his sword, mainly out of reflex. “Some who might not be so patient might take this as a grave insult, and that could lead to some disasterous results.” he explained to the male before him, partially curious as to why he felt the need to answer in such a manner.