08-20-2008, 10:39 AM
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Your turn, Shannon! As for Lubomir, powerplayed as agreed.
He had been waiting a long time for the man named Skoll, spent many hours sitting on this beach, walking up and down a short stretch of sand, unsure of when the Golden Warrior would choose to appear. He didn't mind the extra time, he was glad to have it. Unlike many others, he was able to separate these things in his mind, and his impending battle did not disturb his thoughts as he stared off into the surf. When the scent of the bronze werewolf finally reached his nose, the warrior inside him surged forward, returned in force, and he rose to meet his opponent.
There was another reason he had taken the honorable route, this day. There was a strange curse over this individual, a pall of anguish hung over this entire expedition. Lonna, who had accompanied them to talk her brother into abandoning his ethics to rejoin the people he loathed, had died before ever seeing Gronnor. The remaining four had easily killed Gronnor and all of his students, even one of Skoll's, without incident. Yet as soon as they began hunting Skoll, they had begun to die. And die. And die. He almost wondered if something supernatural wasn't around the man, a spirit of divine justice or vengeance, making them pay for past action, as well as for seeking to kill this man, despite knowing what good he'd done. If he felt it was a choice he was free to make, he would not fight this man today. From what he saw, he'd put these skills to better use than anyone from GreyClaw.
"I came." Skoll's voice was adamant and strong, unyielding, challenging, even. Asmodai nodded, ready to engage, and just then, another form appeared, shooting past the yellow wolf.
"For Skoll, you damn son of a bitch!" the gray wolf, on four legs, launched himself toward Asmodai, and for a brief moment, the thought of betrayal. Then...
"DON'T KILL HIM!" As the roar of the scarred wolf hit his ears, the warrior of GreyClaw reacted, stepping slightly to the side, and catching this intruder by the neck and shoulder. Claws sank in for grip, and pivoting on his foot, he wheeled his new foe around, his forward momentum turning into centrifugal force. Arms raised high, the gray warrior brought Lubomir down, hard, crashing into the sand, to bounce once and roll onto his side. His brown eyes rose up to meet Skoll's.
"Do you have any other guests?" he asked, his voice cold and measured.
"He wasn't supposed to come," Skoll returned. "I knew nothing about this." Thinking, Asmodai nodded his head. It made sense. Everything he'd heard about Skoll would have suggested that this was not a tactic he was likely to use. Also, if it had been a plan to catch him off guard and end this unfairly, he would have charged in with this younger wolf.
"Fair enough. In that case, should we begin?"
Your turn, Shannon! As for Lubomir, powerplayed as agreed.
He had been waiting a long time for the man named Skoll, spent many hours sitting on this beach, walking up and down a short stretch of sand, unsure of when the Golden Warrior would choose to appear. He didn't mind the extra time, he was glad to have it. Unlike many others, he was able to separate these things in his mind, and his impending battle did not disturb his thoughts as he stared off into the surf. When the scent of the bronze werewolf finally reached his nose, the warrior inside him surged forward, returned in force, and he rose to meet his opponent.
There was another reason he had taken the honorable route, this day. There was a strange curse over this individual, a pall of anguish hung over this entire expedition. Lonna, who had accompanied them to talk her brother into abandoning his ethics to rejoin the people he loathed, had died before ever seeing Gronnor. The remaining four had easily killed Gronnor and all of his students, even one of Skoll's, without incident. Yet as soon as they began hunting Skoll, they had begun to die. And die. And die. He almost wondered if something supernatural wasn't around the man, a spirit of divine justice or vengeance, making them pay for past action, as well as for seeking to kill this man, despite knowing what good he'd done. If he felt it was a choice he was free to make, he would not fight this man today. From what he saw, he'd put these skills to better use than anyone from GreyClaw.
"I came." Skoll's voice was adamant and strong, unyielding, challenging, even. Asmodai nodded, ready to engage, and just then, another form appeared, shooting past the yellow wolf.
"For Skoll, you damn son of a bitch!" the gray wolf, on four legs, launched himself toward Asmodai, and for a brief moment, the thought of betrayal. Then...
"DON'T KILL HIM!" As the roar of the scarred wolf hit his ears, the warrior of GreyClaw reacted, stepping slightly to the side, and catching this intruder by the neck and shoulder. Claws sank in for grip, and pivoting on his foot, he wheeled his new foe around, his forward momentum turning into centrifugal force. Arms raised high, the gray warrior brought Lubomir down, hard, crashing into the sand, to bounce once and roll onto his side. His brown eyes rose up to meet Skoll's.
"Do you have any other guests?" he asked, his voice cold and measured.
"He wasn't supposed to come," Skoll returned. "I knew nothing about this." Thinking, Asmodai nodded his head. It made sense. Everything he'd heard about Skoll would have suggested that this was not a tactic he was likely to use. Also, if it had been a plan to catch him off guard and end this unfairly, he would have charged in with this younger wolf.
"Fair enough. In that case, should we begin?"