[imgright="height=300]http://magika.space/nightmare/screamingshark/owner/kaefaux/001s.png[/imgright]Sulffur wasn't always an easy odor to eliminate. Especially when your companion constantly exhaled it, along with smoke and small sparks. Black claws dug into the white fur that ran along its head, and the creature let out another heated breath as it murred and grumbled. A few people passed by and the horned beast pricked its ears towards them with a deeper, rumbling growl.

"Now now, Old Shuck," its fellow chided, a fanged smile upon his dark lips, "It's not snack time yet." The Hallowed hybrid predominantly looked the part of its Shade, Geist--and judging by the canine tail--Grimm, with a peppering of Chomp thrown in. But the October curse was gleaming clear through almost every inch of him. His third eye blinked slowly, all three pupil-less red eyes turning towards the facility further down the street that was their goal.

It wasn't October, no, which was his presumably ideal time to conduct such a little... mission. But as he considered it, he realized October was when people expected the most odd of creatures to emerge from soul stones. He presumed he was of no exception of this. Hellhound had hardly been a name seemingly chosen by anyone, though he could not recall when he began to address himself as such. The snarling, every hungry tail of his? It had no name still. Old Shuck or Black Shuck, Barghest, Bear or Bearer... Glutton was another one that Hellhound sometimes used. It had no name, so Hellhound called it whatever felt most befitting at the moment. Sometimes random little names he soon forgot shortly after.

No, no, he knew people knew to expect the worst out of October imbues. It was why so many were sent to the orphanage, much like himself--or so he remembered, such things were so fuzzy, pesky memories, such smoke and mirror tricks. But one in the Spring or Summer? Why, people surely expected even the random stones already somewhat imbued would be safe. Oh sure, there were always questions of what the magic would pass on, of course. He'd no promise anything he touched would carry any of his more... fun traits.

Perhaps personality? Oh that would be delightful. A wide, face-splitting grin filled with fangs made a few people near him jump back as he strolled onward towards the Stone Bank. He could gauruntee nothing, of course, but neither could the magic promise a perfect, sunny disposition or non-Hallowed traits.

And of course, there was the chance that whomever got the stone--or stones, hm--he pushed his magic into would be just oh so accepting of a Hallowed little bundle of hopefully-joy. He would be disappointed in this, genuinely. But it was the deal of the gamble. He'd no control. And if nothing else, Hellhound was very good about keeping his deals. A random imbue meant he held no control over the outcome, including the resulting child's--or children's--live(s). That was the rule, that was the deal. Hellhound had spoken it at the crossroads leading into the city, with his dear Shuck lifting its head and howling a deep rumble and smoke-bellowing sound that sealed the deal.

So was his word given, so was he bound.

Whatever became of such beings he aided in the creation of was out of his claws, and left instead to the hand of Fate.

And he knew just how catty She could be.



[WC 570]