Yesterday Sammael had celebrated (if purchasing a bottle of wine from a merchant passing by could be classified as "celebrating") his thirty-third birthday, alone. He didn't exactly count his horse as company, though Aethir was certainly a good steed, he'd give the mare that much credit.
To be perfectly honest, he'd only remembered when he'd just so happened to glance back at his red scarf, currently tied as a sash around a loop on Aethir's saddle. It was all he had left; a gift his mother had made him, before his sister had been born, when his father had traded weapons to a customer who gave him some finely dyed red wool in return. Truly, it meant the world to him, though it was tattered, worn, and perhaps a bit faded on the tails from too many days spent in the sun.
Sammael wasn't exactly an average man; he was six feet and four inches tall, built for brutality and strength, with nighttime camouflage skin and eyes that burned gold with the intelligence of a hawk. His only faithful companion on the lonely journey of vengeance he traversed was Aethir, a stark black mare with mane and tail cut short, eyes like glittering black blood dotted with the light of starshine. His armor was custom-made from a dragon (one of five) he'd slain in his sixteen years of fighting fantastical and maniacal beasts; its scales were glittery, a dark purple reminiscent of freshly exposed veins before they turn scarlet. His helmet was strapped in its usual place on the back of his saddle, sometimes bumping awkwardly into the large, finely detailed sword strapped to his back.
He looked intimidating, and to every creature unhuman, that was what he intended to be.
And yet he couldn't deny the feeling of emptiness that sat restless, clawing at him from the pit of his stomach. The realization that he was alone, solidified in today's thoughts by his lack of social interactions yesterday. He was thirty-three years old now, and he didn't have enough time. No human did.
He swallowed back a sensation in his throat that reminded him of what it might be like to swallow tar; with each year that passed, it was like a sludge that multiplied inside of his body, slowly filling him up and oozing from the core fabric of his being until one day he would eventually drown in it. It was a concept of failure, and the fear of being a disappointment. The one thing he would never be at peace with was the idea that he had failed his family; that he hadn't done enough. And it ate away at him, every day of his life, steadily more and more as time dragged on that he would never be able to do enough. He held himself to this suicide-like standard, that he should be able to fight like an immortal and slay thousands of creatures, and save millions of lives, past and future, in doing so.
No human could do that. He knew that.
And yet like an ice pick it chipped away at him, and kept pushing him forward. It steered him away from other humans, away from relationships that could hinder him, or keep him from his duty. He was going to give his life protecting others, he'd made up his mind about it. He just hoped that when it happened, it was quick. He was well into his middle aged years by now; it wasn't like he had a whole lot of time left. Death was something he thought about often; his only consolation was that perhaps his loneliness would end then, when he would finally get to see his parents, and his little sister. Hopefully they would be proud of him.
A flourishing movement of color pulled him from his downward spiral of doubt and chaotic thoughts; it even startled Aethir, who stopped in her tracks and shook her head, nickering and nervously stomping at the ground, as hundreds upon possibly thousands of beautiful flowers sprouted in the fields around them.
His eyes widened, and immediately he raised his guard. All of his previous thoughts disappeared, as he focused entirely on his instincts, knowing full well that only those would be able to help him in most situations.
When dealing with the fantastical, logic did not apply. Flowers didn't bloom like that; this was obviously plant magic. There were many types of beings, and probably many more that he hadn't yet learned about (and might never still) that could wield such magic. The first that came to mind were fae.
While he didn't particularly hate all creatures other than humans and most basic animals, he didn't trust anything "magical", "mythical", or even slightly "out of the ordinary". Because any kind of trust placed on creatures like that would get you killed.
Aethir was a particularly helpful mare when it came to dealing with such beings; sharp as the edge of his sword, she picked up on things when something wasn't right, and her hesitation to move forward even now told him everything he needed to know.
He dismounted, and hooked her reigns around a nearby tree. He'd walk forward the rest of the way, until he found whatever was causing such strange phenomenon. He didn't really have to walk far, and when he came across a possible culprit for the so recent goings-on, it made him stop in his tracks.
She was nothing short of beautiful. Perhaps he idolized her because of his own tastes, and his opinions were therefor skewed; but from the subtle, flowing curves of her slender legs, to the warm, golden waves and curls of her hair that glowed with the reflecting light that bounced off of each strand and tendril, she was almost angelic. Her skin was pale, perfect, and unmarred; her frame lithe, petite and dainty. For a moment it flashed into his mind that perhaps she was human; the daughter of a nearby lord or king--but she was too thin, too perfect for that.
His next thought was an angel; but those were much harder to come by than by simply stumbling on them near a common road, or at least he would assume so.
Some dragons, he knew, could change their form to that of a human, or sometimes other creatures--but she didn't give off the vibe really of a dragon, that ferocious, bloodthirsty energy.
The only thing that made sense was a fae, and even that went against what his instincts were trying to tell him. Yet regardless, in the few brief seconds he'd gazed upon her, he knew that no matter what she was, he should operate under the idea that she was human until proven guilty. Usually creatures of magic revealed their true colors quickly, in one form or another.
He took a few steps forward, stopping just shy of a ray of sunlight that only just barely clipped his eyes, the rest of his being submerged in shadows that might, upon a first glance, make him appear as if he were a pair of floating eyes.
"Magic abilities or not, it isn't safe for anyone to be alone out here in these parts. I've heard rumors of a clan of dragons who attack humans here, torment them and devour them without a shred of mercy. Is it your hope to become their next meal?"
