All men have secrets…blockquote>

The hellboy continued his bashing, oblivious that a little creature had steamed up to him:

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Taking one second to steer his attention away from the mutilation of the sun-dried tree, its bark falling away in scars with the shape of his massive dagger marks in its brown flakes, he bent his cranium over to the squealing feminine noise. The voice itself had been enough to make him wince, like a tenor band that had been hit with helium. And his fiery orbs, hot with rage laid upon a little yearling a golden speckled thing with charcoal points and multi-colored orbs. She was certainly a strange little thing, but with a sweet little figure came the voice of an old female nagging him over some tree. He placed the ebony pillars that had been leaning against the tree onto the dry ground sending particles of dust into the air. With a shake of his thick tassles in the same dark hue, he placed himself squarely in front of the little creature as she screamed murder. Listening to her innocence and fury over the tree, he smiled darkly at her. It meant nothing to him whether she was young or old. One day she would learn,
"Little thing it is a tree. It stands here possibly for hundreds of years and you think that I've hurt it? It has had years of this sun, it's tough and hardy." And it's a fucking tree. These words he murmured within his brain, silent in order not to let the little fae hear. Abaddon saw her take one glance back at the tree and shake her little skull, calling him a monster. He was a monster, that she got right. And to this the brute let out a dark rumble of laughter.

The laughter was then cut short by the sudden appearance of another: the dame he had seen back at the meeting. Twisting and turning in order to catch her at the right angle as she swooped in to land on the sand beside the pair already before the tree Abaddon stretched his brawny neck to get a better view of her. That dark winged frame tinted with azurine markings and the same hue of orbs, a strikingly beautiful and powerful looking fae, a true warrior. As his laughter ceased, the warrior leader's voice piped up, backing up the annoying sprog who had caught him out smashing the tree. He had not forgotten the rage within him but he put it to one side in an attempt to set himself in better stead for what he was going to do now.

He dipped his head respectfully, letting his forelock tassles fall over his orbs in a swift flowing motion, "We all play things, madam." He was being exceptionally polite, something which made the stag feel very awkward. And then she produced a vague grin of some sort, to let him know that she was perhaps not quite of the same frame of mind as the little creature.

"If you're itching for a fight, why not hit something that will actually hit back? More fun and more useful."

And Abaddon's pools told the entire story - they lit up with fire and a lust to prove that that was exactly what he wanted. And with a rather excitable tone he replied almost instantly, "I am only waiting to be given that opportunity," and he continued, steadying himself and getting ready to switch on his "deadly" charm, "I am Abaddon, if you remember me from the meeting. I never caught your name?" Abaddon continued, with his pools fixed on her, paying little attention to the whiny filly, "You say that to hit back at something would be more fun and useful and I agree. But let it be for the herd of the Dragon's Throat, let me be one of you." His request was simple, and not one that he asked lightly. If the hellboy was to do this it would give him some position and some power, and the means to practice in his favourite sport - hunting...