Conclusion

[Skoll]

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The axe in his right hand cocked back to strike, the knife in his left in a forward and warding position, Skoll stood ready for any attack of his opponent's. He knew he had the upper-hand, even though Asmodai had demonstrated superb skill in the disarm a few moments prior, the knife had still meant less than the sword, and losing one for the other was a worthwhile exchange, indeed. He knew that it was very unusual for an axe-wielder to have the upper-hand against someone armed with a sword; swords were indeed more nimble, and retained the ability to both chop like an axe and stab like a spear. Still, the heft of his axe was very familiar to him, and he felt that his skill with it more than made up for the difference. Still...there was something in the gray wolf's eyes that told him something was wrong. A grim resolve, and it became clear that he was steeling himself against a dark expectation. He was about to do something which he believed would get him killed, and having attempted the very same thing before, Skoll thought he knew what it was. In his fight against SteelRose, he had lost his axe, and decided to kill her, even if it meant running up her sword to do so. There was a chance that he would kill the gray wolf outright if he ran within his range, but if he hit him anywhere that wasn't fatal, his enemy could--given extreme discipline--get close enough to stick those daggers into Skoll's neck, belly, or heart. Even though the wounds dealt back to Asmodai would also be fatal, Skoll's objective was not mutual destruction, but to live, to live to see Asphyxia and his children once more. He could not let this happen. "Wait," he said, holding his position. Brown eyes, still intense with purpose, did not waver, but his combatant did not advance. "We've both dedicated our lives to the art of unarmed fighting. If this is to be the final fight for one of us, maybe both of us, it seems a waste to die at the hands of human steel." The two stood frozen for several moments, before the gray wolf nodded. "We back away, then, slow." The two of them took several steps away from one another, and away from the weapons that had fallen between them. The knives hit the sand at the same time, and then they began walking off to the side, Asmodai's second knife and Skoll's axe falling into the sand as they walked further from the human-made weapons. Two human packs fell to the sand, and then Skoll's pitted and weathered wooden shield still attached to the deerskin kilt. The two stood off, no longer carrying any of their battle gear, and approached one another again. The fight exploded into a flurry of fists and claws, before the two broke away, and then met again a moment later. Asmodai's expert motions weren't as fearsome as his cousin's, but Skoll saw no lack of skill in his opponent. His longer range gave him an edge, and it wasn't long before the gray wolf was trying to take the fight to the ground. Exquisite footwork kept the bronze wolf upright, stances taught by Gronnor helping him to evade his opponent's intended take-downs every time the boxing match got close enough for an attempt. For nearly a minute, fists and clawed fingers flew. The gray werewolf received the worst of it, receiving many blows while trying to move within range to deliver attacks of his own. After a long period of energetic dodging, circling and striking, a clawed hand managed to grip one of the darting golden arms, and the warrior of GreyClaw moved in to secure his hold. Several tense moments were spent struggling for leverage, adjusting both their footing and hold on one another, before Skoll was finally brought down. Sand flew hither and thither as legs and arms swept through it, the two forms on the ground seeking dominant position over one another. Skoll had been brought beneath his enemy when they had fallen, and now struggled to escape into a position of equal leverage. For a long time he attempted to change his position to facilitate this, but the gray wolf managed to counter his every effort, always maintaining a stronger position, various locks and holds preventing the older warrior from standing up. He's better on the ground than I am, he thought, gritting his teeth. This could be bad. At this rate, he would get pinned to the ground. Being pinned, of course, was not the dangerous part. Being trapped on the ground against an opponent with one hand free, one clawed hand left with access to his throat, was. ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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