<div align="center"> <div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Valsefiel, Harvestor of Finality</div><div class="spoiler_body">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/aa/21/0d/aa210df853da5f4f911a44090f608434--arch-angels-female-warriors.jpg)</div></div><br/><br/>Dragon Slayers? Hm, was that their slur for her kind? Seemed rather complimentary to her, though of course, she was not Dragon kin. The angel’s lips had pulled into that misting hint of a smile when he said he would regard her as an esteemed guest. And he even bowed with flourish. What a pretty lie he spun with his silvered tongue. Perhaps she was young and naïve in some terms of mortal and demonic ways, but she was not dim of wit. He hated her. Hated her simply because she was an angel and he a dragon. Well, she could not begrudge him that. Her kind was ruthless. Especially, on the battlefield. Beautiful, vicious and cold… Or so she had read Angels described. <br/><br/>Valsefiel’s closeness to Ruurik allowed her to observe his temperature spike, as well as the increase in headiness and strength of his rather pleasing scent. Curious. Her gold eyes blinked slowly, examining his gestures. The Dragon kind almost seemed sheepish from her assessment of his scent. Was it a pheromone? Had she over stepped a social bound? He didn’t seem upset, though he quick movement had startled him at first. She hadn’t missed his readiness to try and gut her tender appearing stomach. Clever Prince. <br/><br/>Lifting her wrist, she tested her skin to see if it indeed had a scent. Not <em>quite</em> like the dragon’s, but there was the faintest hint there. To her, it was more like a feeling. The feeling of the sun sending beams of light through the clouds. Not so much a scent, like a flower or anything, but more of a hint at what she was crafted from and for. Well, that was interesting. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she was of a realm of air and light, and the Mortal realm was focused on the growing changing life of their soil’s surface? A curiosity, to be sure. Perhaps she’d try to find a tome on the subject later.<br/><br/>Her four wings ruffled a bit as she shifted to stand on her other foot, always helping her maintain balance, though with her supreme and ethereal grace it had to believe she might need such assistance. Hands behind her back, her hips tilted in a relaxed way, the clothing covering her more like a fancy cleric’s version of silk and gold loincloth, the pale skin of her thick thigh was on full view. Not that modesty wasn’t something of an importance but it was just terribly ineffective for movement and rather uncomfortable. And stuffy. And why did females have to wear more than males? Everyone knew what was beneath the layers of cloth and shining decorations. A few cultures centering around human ideals of modesty vastly confused her. <br/><br/>Tipping her head towards him, the gilt of her hair like a silken veil tamed to be hidden behind her back and wings, her gold-sunlight eyes observing him much like a bird might, without expression, without readable perception. The angel nodded. “Yes, that would be most satisfying,” her voice clear and as impassive as her expression. In all actuality she was looking forward to trying the consumption of mortal realm cuisine. It was said to be curiously diverse and rather enjoyable, even related to the carnal pleasures of the flesh in some texts. <br/><br/>On their way out of the training area a female who had her own peculiar scent entered view. She was significantly smaller than both herself and the Dragon Prince, causing her to tilt her head once more in intrigue. A bit of an owlish habit the inexplicable Angel had. This female seemed rather pleasant in manner, which was in contrast to how the Dragon had presented himself at first. Her gold eyes blinked slowly at the greeting. “Lady…Cat-ri-ona,” her lips formed the name slowly, memorizing it, testing it for faults. Valsefiel found names to be rather important, like the majority of her kin.<br/><br/>Peering at the Fae with the same interest she had peered at the Dragon, she wondered if this Fae too had a defining scent. The elaborate bow, much like the flourished one the prince had presented form before, caught her clearly abstracted notice. Did all peoples of other realms posture so about as if dancing? Whatever for? Was there echelons of bowing that differed per rank or position? Eyes not leaving the Fae, the Angel pressed her fingertips to her throat and her other hand before her stomach. She bowed the slightest bit forward, similar to her greeting to the Dragon.<br/><br/>The Lady Fae seemed far more captivated with the sight of the Dragon Prince, so Valsefiel took her leave to walk ahead of the pair of them. It was not lost on her that of all those gather; she would be the one to receive the least amount of sincere welcome. Angels did not often ally themselves to others after all. Why should they? The Superior Kind should not need help nor complicated relations with Lesser Kinds. It was not a well-received notion, considering the pride the other races had in their own kin.<br/><br/>Walking silently ahead, giving the other two representatives time to acquaint themselves with one another without her discomforting presence, the attendants opened the doors to the great hall for her. With untold grace and fluidity, the Angel, all golden and bright as the magick firelight played on her alabaster features. Four wings folded properly behind her back, her tall, sloping statuesque build poised for a moment on entering, the Angel stepped to the side without ceremony.<br/><br/>A petite and endearing mortal female, accompanied by a stern looking male, and a slightly more elegant black-haired male, along with a scantily clad female demon... She caught the end of the demoness’s rather teasing ‘introduction’ to the black-haired male. She also observed his more than receptive greeting back. Parting her full lips slightly, exhaling what could be a small sigh, she turned attention to the room itself. With her slight disadvantage in the easy way all these other Kinds moved, her own training and distant up0bring being more of a 'reserve all energy till necessary movement is require', she was as much a statue as the stone figures in the ramparts by the ceiling. Everyone else could get along. That was all well and good. But she was <em>hungry</em>. And ever so slightly feel all the odds stacking up against. Well… It was death in defeat and potential death in victory.<br/><br/>What did she truly have to lose? <br/><br/>Her gold eyes flashed like a violent sunburst as they feigned minimal interest in the architecture of the dinning area.<br/></div>