death incarnate & night triumphant

His features are a mask of calm, cool, calculating. A hand casually tucked into his coat pocket as the other lazily picks off an invisible speck of dirt from his pants. He strolls through the forest at his leisure, enjoying the sound of night, owls hooting in the distant, the screech of a dying animal. Andras is rather curious as to what was dying in these forests. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his powerful body prowls through the woods, veering off the trail after a short time. He could already feel that burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, he had gone far too long in not releasing his power; his wings. The wind called to him and how he wanted to take to the skies again. But he waits, infinitely patient, until finally he finds a small clearing, far enough away that even his faerie ears cannot detect the sounds of the city.

Andras removes his hands from his pockets, a shudder running the length of his spine as that devilish grin breaks in full force across his face. Slowly, he peels his jacket from his back, dropping it on the ground amongst the dirt and night crawlers, ignoring the nip of cold air that so desires to call the goosebumps to rise. Instead, he tilts his head back, his hair made silvery in the weak moonlight, as he stares at the stars. A small frown coats his features. He had never truly enjoyed living in the city, it always masked those stars he had come to love over the centuries. Still, he chases away that small bit of unhappiness, his powerful shoulders rolling as he calls forth those wings.

They raise from his back, another shudder of pleasure racing through his veins as they continue to grow and grow and grow, through those slits on his shirt. Those massive black wings, tightly folded behind his back, the tips just barely brushing the ground. At a closer look, a claw peaks at the top of each of those wings, very much like a bat's, going so far to have a membrane connecting the bones rather than feathers. A sigh of relief emits from his vocal cords as that pool of fire is suddenly released. There was a time when he could walk about showing those formidable wings to the world without a care in the world, but as time wore on, humans tended to forget the monsters that so prowled their history.

Scoffing at the idea that he could no longer brandish his wings, he shrugs the thought away. Tonight, was not the night he would dwell on such things. Tonight, he would take to the skies once more. Perhaps he should have waited a few more days for the new moon, he risked detection otherwise, but that restlessness was eating him alive. To fly once a month was tearing at him so deeply, he considered leaving this city. But, he was curious. It had been centuries since such a city was willing to accept the strange supernatural races back into the world. Andras wanted to see what Sacrosanct had to offer. Again, that dangerous look enters his eyes as he flares his wings, nearly fifteen feet from wing tip to wing tip, rolling his neck to release the tension as he shoots into the air.

He soars for hours, looping throw the air, riding the air current until the light threatens to break over the mountains. Disappointment mars his features as he slowly descends back into the clearing, though he doesn't land where his jacket is, instead he finds a tree and then a branch large enough to accommodate his body, as he carefully navigates himself through the twigs and dead leaves. Landing himself gracefully amongst the trees, he snicks his wings shut with a sort of finality. He wasn't ready to hide them just yet, so he sits, shifting in a way where his back is pressed against the trunk, his wings lazily trailing on either side of them in a slumped position.

Sneaking a calloused hand behind his head, his hair a wind-blown mess, his hazel eyes watch the sun rise over the mountains, a sense of peace engulfing him as his eyes close, enjoying the warmth along his face.

Andras Steinhello darling