It is not as though Samael wanted to be late, rather that Baphomet had sent him on a much longer journey than anticipated. Finding out the stories of this strange place was more interesting by way of task than Baphomet had previously given him. Stories of how a King of the Vale stepped aside for some Diamond King. Stories of great stars colliding with the earth and years spent abroad before the natives returned to this land. Stories of Angels rising from the ashes - what a shame, and yet was it? - and the story of medicine men, stargazers, and They hearers. He has collected much knowledge for his king, his elder brother, and he brings it post haste.

               A white streak through the fog and Samael is among them, standing out like a sore thumb, except wait -- Another! White as virgin snow and as biting in her stare as winter's chill! Certainly Baphomet had made the ang-- Ah, but she does not look like an Angel. Angels hid their shame and rage better. He would know. He tilts his head quite obviously at her speaking, snorting a little as he watched each not-demon speak - excusing Andras because Andras was as good as Baphomet's twin in more ways than was truly realistic. Andras, not-blood twin... Given all rank and benefit as if he were Baphomet himself... While remaining submissive to the big man all the same. They all pitch about, these Moladion creatures, as if it were unusual for pack structure to be remade and it baffled him if only just a little. Surely they had seen crowns passed around before - it certainly was no strange thing in Demon culture before Baphomet took control.

               He looks to Lillith, The Hellblade, with a wag in his tail, then to Rogue, in which instance his wagging tail ceased its wag - lunatic woman... And then to Andras who earned a slight wag again... And finally to Baphomet. Baphomet, for as long as his memory truly recalled, had always been the most charismatic and unwavering image of what a male ought to be. How he held himself, controlled his voice - which, by the way, could cease a heart from beating - and swayed those who hated him to hate his enemies. It was to him that Samael's tail wagged greatest from its place lower to his hocks than the others. He knows that though he is Baphomet's not-brother, he is still below the rest of his fellow - not-so-fellow actually - demons. White and born to an unfortunate family bloodline - but did he really believe that? - he was certainly the least of those who Baphomet had here. He perks suddenly at that.

               Ishtar. She was missing! His head flails about a bit, oil-slick rainbow eyes wide with surprise and a little worry. He turns himself about three times before his eyes return from their search to look at Baphomet's face - (never in the eye, mind, never in the eye). He is quiet but he addresses his alpha nonetheless. His tail is still and the worry is clear cut scrawled across his face. Where was his lady-night at this fine hour of triumph!?