@samsonfrisk
August took to the night easily, it was maybe a bit of a cliche, considering his name, but he’d heard once his ancestors had earned it for similar reasons. The witch hummed lightly, the graveyard was one of his favorite places, though it was late and he knew enough to be careful. He was already a target for spirits and other shadow creatures, simply because of his magical nature, but there were ways to ward away such things, and August could see the signs of approaching malevolence well enough to head home when it was necessary. The last thing he wanted was to approach a Wailing Woman or some other creature, his presently unnamed Hellhound that Marshall helped him pick out followed nipped closely at his heels. In truth, August wanted to see how - the thing - was going to behave.
His aunt had owned hounds in his youth, August had resented them for a time but had grown to love them in his own way. The creature now was still just a pup, but a vicious little beast he was quietly adoring from his seat on a head stone, the hound was rolling in the grass at the base of the tombstone. It was visible, but blurry, as was their nature. The hellhound did not yet know how to render itself invisible and visible freely, so occasionally August would lose sight of it and he’d call for the creature until it would come at last. He sighed, wondering if perhaps this was a mistake, but it looked at him eagerly, twin heads both panting.Â
It was then that he heard someone cry for help. I should go. August thought, whatever was happening, he didn’t want any part of it. He had enough on his plate already, and August was kind of a slacker, one who generally ambivalent to the problems of others. But he could be swayed. Seeing the guy who was not far from his own age come screaming into view was definitely a factor, August’s eyes went wide - he’d help, he had to.Â
