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Alright, I believe the post order is Skoll, Lubomir, Asmodai, and Iskata. After the first cycle (where Lubomir attacks Asmodai and Iskata demands to know what's going on), I think post-order is going to go down the tubes since I'll be doing some rapid-firing between Skoll and Asmodai. PM me with any questions.
He had shifted on his way back to Shadowed Sun, and retrieved his fight gear. The deerskin kilt wrapped snugly across his waist, he secured his shield to it, and his human pack as well, the wooden handle of his axe jutting up, a few inches from his hand. The trek from there seemed to stretch unnaturally long. The oddest part was how blank his thoughts were. He thought of of little other than the wind blowing along the sandy stretch, and the gray clouds hanging low in the sky. The sea breeze picked up, and the waters were brought into short, frothy waves against the sands.
He walked on and on, unable to think inward, just taking everything in. From time to time, his right hand would reach for the handle of his axe, almost as if for reassurance, to make sure it was still there. He knew that two fighting blades were deeper in the pack, ready to be drawn quickly once he met his enemy. The sun was well on its way west, though a few hours were left before dusk.
Soon, he caught a new scent on the wind, and looked forward, to spy a dot along the strand. He didn't pause, but continued on, hypothetical situations running through his mind. What if it was someone else? How funny that would be, to be wound so tight and find out that it was someone he didn't know, or perhaps a friendly face, someone unexpected who he would talk to...a random encounter to be the last friendly face he met in this life, if he didn't survive. He would need to survive, though, for Asphyxia, and for their children.
As he walked ever-forward, the dot grew to become a gray smudge at the edge of his vision, and grew larger still as he came closer. It was undeniably the man he'd met on the Shadowed Sun border. He sat, staring pensively off into the horizon, where the sea met the sky. Skoll was still a few hundred yards away when the other werewolf tilted his head, and recognized his approach, rising to his feet. Skoll continued walking forward, until the two of them stood thirty feet or so apart, and he stopped. He knew that he could have walked on, and begun the fight without words, but he wasn't sure if that was appropriate.
"I came," he said, needlessly. Where this went from here was up to the other. He had little doubt that the fight would ensue shortly, but as it hadn't yet begun, there was always the chance that the other would choose to back down.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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OOC. tl;dr much? Wdf, so this is what's been hiding inside Lubomir!
The grey wolf had seen his friend leave Shadowed Sun. He stood behind a tree, unshifted, his head resting on his front paws, his eyes sad. Inside, he felt much like the day he'd realised he had been wrong about Ember. Ever since she'd joined Shadowed Sun he had been avoiding her, her scent and voice, her eyes, everything a painful reminder of sleeping with Firefly. He'd been up all night on Halcyon Mountain and realised, with growing worry (and maybe, ironically, a sense of peace), that he did not love her. His heart was closed to all now, most of all to himself. The other had been quiet too and Lubomir found himself wondering if he'd somehow fallen through a black hole and ended up in a different universe. He snorted at the thought. If he had, he would have given himself another chance at rescuing his pack.
Lubomir felt old. He was 4, but he felt old and jaded. He was a crusty old fool, with ideas of great romance in his head, with poetry that slipped between his fingers, with songs half-forgotten, with morals, grand ideas of justice and a sense for being inherently good. The grey wolf got up and shook himself. After his discussion with Skoll, he had no doubt in his mind what he would do. He would follow and fight the other wolf. Ever since SteelRose, he had found himself questioning his selfless attitude. He wondered if maybe he's been a wolf to ever believe he could help anyone. But he would rather die a fool than live life as a coward. He sniffed the air and trotted at a good pace behind Skoll.
The more he walked the more he feared for his friend. They should have brought Tayui here, they should have done something. A laughable concept. Skoll would hear none of it. The grey wolf was silent, grateful that the wind would hide his scent from the others. He picked up the pace. His body, used to mellow walking and strolls, put up some resistance but Lubomir trudged on. He stopped once, when he noticed that the ground was less bountiful in terms of hiding spots. He drew a deep breath and went on. Skoll was his friend. They had shared stories. He could never live with himself if he did nothing. The voice whispered something, but he was so focused the meaning was lost on the wind.
The final dune was as good a vantage point as any. He listened with a heavy heart as Skoll announced his presence. Their guardian. His friend. Blinded by his own morality. Lubomir wished that for once, the people he truly cared about stayed with him, instead of running off to somewhere else. Instead of putting their lives at risk. But, also, he ahd to think that if Frigg and One-Eye had not died, he might have fallen in that fight. He was alive, he could tell their story. He could try to prevent something horrific from happening again. Glancing over the top of the dune, he noticed the other wolf waiting. Now or never. Slowly, Lubomir shook himself again. Then he charged.
He hadn't realised just how fast he was, hadn't known the depth of his anger, the amount of rage piled on his mind, the fear, the hunger, the thirst, the adrenaline. The other did not come out, instead he seemed to crouch and bow before this Lubomir of moral grounds, this grey blur of ethics, this yellow-eyed wolf who was far from suited for battle, who still charged at a warrior for the sake of his friend. For Skoll, you damn son of a bitch! His voice was stronger than he'd ever heard it before. His eyes glinted. Lubomir picked up the pace and charged head-on into the stranger.
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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?"
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Iskata couldn't imagine what in the world she was going to say when she found Asmodai but she was deeply hurt by his sudden disappearance over the horizon and she wasn't going to see their friendship end on a sour note. She'd always been stubborn and hardheaded but she knew that wasn't just the reason for her venturing after the greyscale male. Her heart was heavy with a million thoughts swirling through her mind and the weight of their packmate's lives upon her shoulders. He'd abandoned them, she should have just accepted that and turned back to the family, there had always been the wayward ones and there always would be, her own blood stood true to that notion.
Rising over the last dune she sat a moment as she caught sight of the form she'd been tracking, though why he was still within the lands she couldn't understand. She'd have thought by now he was well on his way outside of these newly settled territories. She took a step towards his back and was about to call out towards her formal packmate and lost friend but the shimmer of the sun highlighting the hairs off another pelt caused her to stop. She was suddenly more than confused when she recognized the other form that was meeting Asmodai. She felt the hairs along the nape of her neck raise as she found herself staring at an older friend than the one she'd been trailing.
Opening and closing her maw she wasn't sure what exactly was happening or what exactly to say. She caught the dull sheen of that damnable ax that Skoll always carried and suddenly it began to sink in that she'd been foolish. She'd been so caught up in her family and pack that she hadn't been paying attention to the world around her.. and obviously the world had been turning without her still. One more step was taken towards the two when out of nowhere a voice that didn't belong seemed to fill the calm air between the two warriors.
Catching sight of the blur of motion as another wolf seemed to throw themself into the mists of something she hadn't exactly grasped completely but seeing just who the target was her heart skipped a beat as she screamed, "STOP!" Her normally calm and soft had escaped in a wash of fear and histerics. "What the hell is this all about!" She wasn't his leader anymore, but she was still both of their friend and she was caught between a rock and a hard place. That didn't stop the silver and gold lady from settling into a ground eating lope as she flew down the sandy slopes towards the two forms she'd come to know each in their own way.
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Either of you can feel free to reply past this point, but I think I'll start posting back and forth soon.
Skoll saw the grey blur shoot past, saw the wolf he recognized as Lubomir diving for the larger male, a trained killer like himself, an impossible gambit with no chance of success, but enormous potential for tragic slaughter. "DON'T KILL HIM!" Skoll yelled out, his words the only thing that could reach Asmodai before Lubomir did. A fast claw, a wrong twist, a drawn weapon, any of these could kill his friend before he had the time to run the distance and pull him away. It was over in an instant, but the gray wolf heeded him, thankfully, and his defense was not lethal. Skoll winced as Lubomir's body was slammed brutally into the sand, a modest plume of grit rising into the air at the brave wolf's impact, in the instant before he rolled clear of Asmodai, the violent result of his forward-sprint being turned back on itself.
Another familiar voice rang out, and Skoll quickly looked beyond Asmodai to see the form of Iskata running forward to meet them. Hadn't she just seen what happened to Lubomir?! Why was she doing this, she was going to get hurt...Asmodai was going to think this a setup, kill his friends or turn and flee, abandoning their honorable confrontation for one without rules, one in which anyone could be hurt. But as the gray wolf's head turned back to see the owner of the voice, he returned his gaze to Skoll. He didn't fear her, in fact he seemed to have chosen not to acknowledge her. He reached backward into the pack hanging from his shoulders, and Skoll held up his hand at Iskata, the sternness in his eyes frightening.
"Stay back!" he warned. "This is between the two of us. I don't want any one else getting hurt." His warning had been automatic, said quickly to get her to stop before getting within the gray wolf's range, but as it began to dawn on him that his enemy was not going to attack her, her question returned to his mind, and he answered more directly. "This is a duel, Iskata. He and I want each other dead, and have come here to settle it honorably, one-on-one and without interference. I have no idea what Lubomir thought he was doing, coming after me."
Asmodai's gaze never wavered, nor did he give any indications that he had heard their words. He paid the she-wolf no mind as he tightened his grip around something beneath the top flap of his backpack. Skoll hoped he would wait for Iskata to acquiesce to his request formally before beginning. If nothing else, he had to hope she would have the good sense to stay out of a fight between the two of them. A wolf like Asmodai could kill her quickly, and would if he thought she was compromising his chances of victory, or so Skoll suspected.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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Her eyes were filled with fury as Skoll told her to stand back. Her fangs bared in dispair at the words he offered her, seeming to think they were some sort of comfort but all they left her with was the truth. She shook her head as she snarled and stalked back and forth, spatting words at the two before her. "You're both fools! There's nothing honorable in death! There's nothing honorable in ruining your own life and the lives of those that care about you!" She took another step forward as her heckles rose along her back. She honestly couldn't understand what it was that men found worthy of blood and scars. She'd fight to defend herself but never had she been foolish enough to throw herself into a battle to prove she was the best.
Shifting her gaze to the male who seemed to be out like a light she growled softly and hissed. "Men! Always so damn selfish! You'll never learn!" She backed away from the two and began to circle around them, hoping that they would just drop their foolish fight of honor and turn the opposite ways. She knew it was a far shot but she could still hope.. though she knew deep down inside nothing came from hoping and if she was correct she'd be hurting far more than she had been at the start of the morning.
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He had been wordless until now, but he knew that he owed some sort of explanation to Iskata. He wasn't sure he would have time to give it, or even a chance to later, but she deserved more than his cold shoulder, didn't she? It had never been his intent to hurt her. Though the words, the voice, may not be inflected as she expected, given that he was in a fundamentally different frame of mind now than he had been when he met her, he decided to speak.
"You may be right, that there is no honor in this," he said over his shoulder. "But it isn't for ourselves that we do battle, not for selfishness. We've both lost those we care about already to one another. One of us will explain it to you. After." With that, his sword sang from its sheath, the two-foot blade which had always been there, but had avoided her notice during his time in Phoenix Valley. His left went to another compartment, drawing a concealed dagger. He walked briskly toward Skoll, his eyes devoid of his old self, bent entirely on his purpose. The bronze warrior didn't miss a beat, his axe leaping from its resting place in a heartbeat, and a long stiletto the next.
The Golden Warrior's prowess with the axe was legendary, though legends often exaggerated. He knew that his sword was the superior weapon. He just needed to be good enough with his better weapon to defeat a legend. Obviously the people around here didn't revere him as such, which was a good thing. It meant that the stories were probably embellished, hopefully a good deal, because he himself was no legend.
The first contact was blade on haft, the edge of his sword deflected by the wooden handle of his enemy's axe. Driven back by the long knife, he attempted a stab of his own, but quickly realized that his reach was shorter than his adversary's...Skoll's knife was bigger, and besides, his arm was a few inches longer as well. This point was driven home on the second pass, when his sword was fouled again by a swinging axehead, and that narrow blade in Skoll's left hand swept by his face. Instinct tilted his head, protecting his eyes, but his left ear fell to the sand as blade passed through tissue.
The grey wolf gave ground, his enemy being faster than anticipated, moving the axe in tight and controlled arcs. His training kept well in mind, Asmodai was back in full-force for the next pass, and the one after. For a full minute they entered repeatedly into the range of the other, and knives, sword, and axe, stabbed, swung, and parried. He had grazed his enemy twice, but given his lighter, more agile weapon, Skoll's defenses should have been easier to move through. Seeing an opening, the axe at the end of a failed swing, he moved in, sword-point aimed to pierce his foe's chest.
War-knife caught his sword, blade to blade, and held it there for a brief, terrible moment, in which the axe--not drawn back far enough for a blow--hooked his sword, preventing escape. A wrenching pressure, and the sword spiraled out of his right hand, and into the sand. Forward. The gray werewolf moved forward that very same moment, as the axe cast his sword away, coming in for the kill with his dagger. The large knife came in to intercede as the bronze warrior stepped back, but as the dagger's met, the tactic changed. Asmodai's hand came up, and twisted the wrist as he applied pressure through the blade-lock. The massive knife came free of Skoll's hand, granting him enough time to leap away before the axe swung into his side.
The two stood off, each with a weapon in the sand between them. Skoll could not move to retrieve his knife if he hoped to keep his axe in position, but Asmodai knew his sword would be unattainable with that axe poised to strike. Simultaneously, both drew a second knife. The weapons were twins, each stylized after some long forgotten human aesthetic, kitchen knives in truth, but killing implements to the werewolves who stood at odds now. Both weapons from half a continent away, used by a now dead wolf named Art. The two each stayed where they were, poised for a last exchange of blows.
I am at a disadvantage. I have lost my primary weapon, while he has only lost his knife. With only these two knives, I can't match his range with the axe. There's no way I'm going to be able to get to him without getting hit...I'll have to pass through the axe's range to cut him, and he isn't careless enough to let me pull that off without dealing a grievous, even fatal wound while I'm on my way. Nevertheless, I need to kill him. Sorry, Varn, it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to achieve sixth position like you said. He prepared himself for the final pass.
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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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The bronze wolf was right. There was more to this than duty any more, honor seemed to be very real right now, and there was a certain...symbolic appeal to having this fight be unarmed. Killing Skoll with a sword wouldn't mean much, nor would being killed by the bite of an axe. If he lost unarmed, then Skoll must truly be a remarkable warrior, to best the wolf who Varn believed would be the sixth or seventh best fighter of GreyClaw. With out-of-date training, and an old and torn up body, truly that would be an amazing thing. If he defeated Skoll, it would mean that he had slain a legend with his bare hands. It was a dubious honor, and one which he would avoid if he had a choice, but given that he was to fight this man anyway, he knew he wanted to do it right.
After they discarded their weapons, the battle broke out in full. They did egregious damage to one another, bones creaking and flesh bruising with impact after impact, delivered by deliberately hardened knuckles. He received the worst of it, even though his training was superior, Skoll seemed heedless of what blows he received, and though Asmodai could block, he could never back out fast enough to escape a return blow from his long-armed adversary. He had decided early that his plan would be to take Skoll to the ground, but that had proven very difficult. He could always take Soro down with little trouble, but this enemy was more well-rounded. His striking was very formidable, but on top of that he had near-perfect footwork, which assisted him in escaping time and again. Finally, success. Locking one of Skoll's legs with his own, the GreyClaw warrior was able to bring the fight down into the sand, where he hoped he would hold the advantage.
Fortunately, he was correct. Skoll was a demon on his feet, and Asmodai could tell that to most he would be a demon on the ground also, but when down in the sand he was over-matched. Not forgetting anything Varn had taught him, anything he had practiced for years, he sought to tighten his hold, to adjust his grip and increase his leverage. He would make his control of the ground more and more restrictive until he had Skoll unable to defend his throat, and that was when the fight would be over.
The struggle in the sand came to a standstill several times, while both considered how best to make new acquisitions of leverage without putting themselves in a position to lose previous gains, or in Skoll's case, without putting himself in a position to lose his life. Suddenly, a twist of the body, and Asmodai's grip was compromised. The bronze wolf squirmed out of one hold, and got his knees beneath him. The younger wolf sought to bear down on the bronze wolf's upper-body, but felt a surge of power as the seven-year-old's feet got under him, and he stood, fighting Asmodai's weight the whole way.
Sudden impact. Then another. Then another. Brutal, hollow thuds as he threw his knee again and again into the bronze wolf's sternum, seeking to shatter ribs and drive breath from his lungs. Cracking could be heard. His enemy's arms fell from his shoulders to break away, but he kept his grip, prolonging the situation as long as possible. One golden arm caught his upraised leg, preventing it from falling back to the ground. Pushing him backward, and then another arm grabbed his other leg, and he felt himself lifted up. A pained groan came from Skoll's jaws, as Asmodai felt himself lifted six feet off the ground. He wasn't facing it, so he didn't see the ground rushing up at him as he was brought swiftly down. Pounding the ground, he felt his breath explode from his lungs, and he was motionless.
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Gonna miss this guy.
Skoll pushed himself away, hissing through his teeth. The battle had only been going on for four minutes or so, and yet the two of them were both near breaking point. He drew in a breath, and pain shot through his body. It hurt so badly to breathe...he had suffered two or three broken ribs from Asmodai's onslaught. Powerful self-control had allowed him to pick up his enemy and throw him to the ground, but now he was spent. He gasped, needing to breathe heavily, forcing shock after shock of pain. Asphyxia. Damn it. The gray wolf was rising, slowly, painfully, from where he'd landed. Skoll rose slowly, unsteadily to his feet. He had to live. This wasn't over yet. On the ground, he would lose, but if he received any further blows to his chest he would be struggling to resist passing out. His enemy looked to him again, his eyes betraying nothing of the damage he'd received. One more try, then. I just have to kill him quickly. Body, listen to me for just a few more moments.
Asmodai strode forward, and received a right-handed blow to the face, through his guard, sending him staggering backward. Skoll followed up with his left, then a right, backing off when his last blow failed to connect. The gray wolf, breathing heavily, approached again. Skoll met him with another volley of blows, this time failing to get past his forearms. A right-handed shot caught the seven-year-old, fast and below the chin, and his head jolted upward. In that window, that damnably small window, a left hand, claws extended, darted in, gripping the right side of his neck. The claws dug in, and Skoll immediately grabbed that arm, holding it in place. Jerking forward or back would be deadly. Asmodai set his forearm against his enemy's skull, and a moment before it happened, Skoll knew it was over. One arm pushed his head back, and the other pulled that vital part of his neck forward. The artery was cut, and warm blood spilled copiously down his right side. Asmodai disengaged. He looked down at himself. He felt no different, save for the pain in his neck, but he knew that soon he would become light-headed and nauseous. Asphyxia...gods, please let her know how sorry I am.
Through his anguish, his vision flashed red. A horrible leer crept across his features as his eyes shone through with madness. He breathed deeply, quickly. It hurt, and he loved it. The pain was terrible, and wonderful. And he would visit it upon the person who had visited it upon him. A wide, toothy grin, greeting Asmodai as the victor's face fell. His fur bristled and the exhaustion seemed to leak from his body with the blood that was spilling from his neck. His steps came faster, and his enemy backed away, unsure of this change which had taken place. Asmodai was broken from the battle, his body bruised and cut, beaten and cracked. He had just become aware of how near he was to collapsing when he'd stepped away from Skoll. Now, worn and weary, he stumbled backward, onto his back, and fear flitted across his face as he saw this new beast descending upon him.
No. Skoll's advance stopped. The blood was leaving his body, quickly, and he was already beginning to feel the effects, mere moments after the fatal attack. The red left his vision, and the maddened smile was replaced by a deep, irreparable weariness. He fell to his knees, and then into an awkward sitting position. The strength would leave him soon. He would use it to speak, not to kill. He would not die a monster. He smiled tiredly. He wouldn't let his defeat here let him lose his years-long struggle against his own blood.
"I won't die a monster," he said, strength enough still to fight through the pain and speak normally. "I concede defeat." He wanted to weep, weep for the family he would never see, for the woman whose eyes he would never again look into. The image he'd had of her, before turning away just hours ago, would be enough. It would always be enough, no matter where death took him. He would not weep. He would be strong, this one last time.
"I..." he was fading faster than he had expected. The severance of the artery must have been more complete than he'd thought. "I'm sorry, Asphyxia." His eyes fell closed, and his body slumped. He lacked the strength to hold himself up, a pervasive weakness taking his limbs and body. He had been at death's door so many times, and so many times no one had opened it to welcome him in. Today was different. He saw something...he wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed...warm. This didn't make sense, death was cold, it was raw and brutal. He had never imagined that it might be pleasant, at the very end, as the body shut down, the pain and fear battling against a rush of comfort and familiarity. He embraced that warmth, and was gone.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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Pain. It was there, raw and real and everywhere, engulfing him. The blow had made him fall, his body, bruised, broken, worn beyond its wear, landing with a thud, his head hitting the sand so hard he was knocked out. There was blackness again, and the other was there, though he seemed subdued somehow, as if he were lost within himself. Lubomir stared at the other and the other stared at Lubomir. Slowly, they touched front paws and their thoughts were one. The grey wolf learned that his split, his twin, whatever the hell the other was to begin with, had been a violent wolf from birth. He was brutal and brash, he was loud and strong, and he loved the sight of blood. No body was too weak to control, no mind too strong to overcome. In Lubomir, he'd found someone of almost unwavering ethics, a broken mirror image of his distorted self. Slowly, the wolf absorbed the other back into himself with a gasp, for it seemed he was being doused in icy water. The other would remain, like a shadow, one Lubomir could bring up, to fight, to destroy, to be in battle all the gentle one could not be.
It was with a gasp that he awoke, his body screaming with the agony of it. His eyes focused on Skoll, who seemed to be winning, and Lubomir's heart soared. His friend would prove him right. And then... yellow eyes seemed to glaze over. The grey wolf held his breath. His mind reeled. The scent of blood filled the air. He swore to himself that he was dreaming. He swore that this was his knock playing tricks on him, his disgusting, filthy mind, this was a joke, a trick, illusion, smoke and mirrors, magician's work, devil's trickery, a lie, a lie, a lie. He found that he was standing, shakily, on all four paws. He found himself walking slowly towards his friend, the great fallen warrior. His eyes would refuse to blink, and Lubomir knew it must be an illusion, some silly folly, maybe a game between these two? Skoll was just pretending to be dead.
The cry that escaped him was ear-shattering. It spoke of hollowness, of longing, emptiness and futility, it spoke of lost friendships and broken hearts. Lubomir drew breath and the same keening sound pierced the air, tears rolling down his cheeks. They wet his fur and Skoll's chest, they wet the sand around them. His cry seemed to chase clouds and sun, drawing in darkness. But it was only a darkness of mind, for Lubomir now cried earnestly, no longer calling out to some dead god to keep the golden warrior's soul. He cried for lost stories and fallen friends, for pointless deaths and valour, he cried for his guardian and mentor, he cried for all that could never be again. Not once did he think of attacking Asmodai. It would change nothing. Skoll was dead.
Lubomir lifted himself off his friend's body and did the one thing he could do. He said goodbye, as only bards knew how. It is possible that we are past the middle now.
It is possible that we have crossed the great water
without knowing it, and stand now on the other side.
Rest, friend. May your sleep never be troubled again. Lubomir looked on, to where the golden female and the grey killer stood. He said nothing more. Afterall, it had been said and done, and no one could undo the damage here.
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She knew how the game would play, she'd been there before, she'd witnessed the madness of it all.. and felt the pain once the victor had won. The battle that raged before her had brought her to her knees as she wept. She wept for the stupidity of men and their need of violence. She wept for an honorable friend she'd granted a cold shoulder and the injustice of it all. For a man she barely knew but had come to trust and care for.. and who'd broken her heart in more ways than one. One would think that tears would end after all was said and done but as the two men broke apart her heart skipped a beat hoping that sense had overcome their so called better judgement.. but hope wasn't a friend of hers anymore and no grace was granted to the Matriarch.
She wailed as once more they connected and time and time again the tables turned. She'd thought she'd grown numb as the tears silenlty began to draw lines down her cheeks as two friends to her set out to end one anothers life. Either way she knew she'd be broken by the pains they other would cause.. but when the last move was granted and she heard the muted words as Skoll fell she hadn't realized that she'd screamed as she bolted across the sands towards him. The name on his lips as he faded away caused her to faulter and fall short of the male.
Another wailing howl rose from her throat as once more it seemed the lives of those she knew were twisted and intertwined again.. like aways their world would crash and tumble over and over. On her knees in the sands with the pounding of the surf in her ears she howled her despair to a world that never seemed to care. The singing of Skoll's packmate seemed to roll with the surf, but instead of sooth her shattered soul it churned the emotions over and over.
Her red rimmed eyes turned to the man who'd been a friend, a packmate and companion as the rage seemed to build up inside her as she let the emotions boil over into a fury. Sands flew from around her as she lunged at the male, her fists pounding on his bloody bruised flesh as she wept and screamed. "Why! Why did you even come here!" she cried out, the pain in ber voice apparent as she vented her anger on the already exhausted warrior. "We were happy here! What was so worth taking the life of a man who only raised a hand to defend those who couldn't!" Her voice rose with every word until her voice was strained beyond help. Her vocals cracking as she wept, her fists falling weaker and weaker on the male's body as she spent the anger and pain of Skoll's death upon the male.
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Edited. The last three paragraphs are new. Since Shannon is having storms, and the situation is really unpleasant for Asmodai, it made sense for him to make a quick departure.
Success. His left hand came away bloody, and he knew that he had ended his enemy's life. No matter what happened from here, he had succeeded. He stood away, exhaustion hitting him in a wave. The blows he'd received, as well as the exertion of trying to trap his enemy on the ground and being slammed so violently into the sand had taken their toll on him, and his legs felt weak, holding up his frame. His eyes narrowed as the yellow wolf's hairs stood on end, and a terrible, fearsome grin twisted his scarred face. Tripping as he backpedaled, Asmodai knew that he wouldn't make it out of this, after all.
Then nothing. The Golden Warrior fell to his knees. "I will not die a monster," the words resounded in his memory. It was only a few moments after that, and the last of Gronnor's students closed his eyes, and quietly died. He rose, slowly, uncertainly. It is done, then. The two others emerged onto the scene, and Iskata, the woman he thought he'd left back in Phoenix Valley, was right in front of him, screaming into his ears...or was it ear, now? He had lost his left one early on.
"I had to," he said feebly, trying to be heard over her hysteria. With his duty fulfilled, he found it difficult to keep himself cold and collected any longer. "It's what I came here to do, Iskata. I didn't want to, but I had to, it was my job." He felt like the right thing to do was give her a shoulder to cry on, be there for her, but he knew that in her eyes he must be a monster, now. "I lied to you, and I'm sorry. My people didn't want outsiders to know our secrets, to be able to fight like we could. A party of five was appointed to take care of the leak." His voice faltered. How was this explanation going to improve this situation at all? How could it? He was wrong to do this, and he had known that before he'd even come here. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Skoll should have been allowed to live, but he didn't have the right to forsake the mission.
"I was the last survivor. There was no one else that could have fought your friend. I didn't want to, I had to." He doubted she would understand, but he only had one explanation to offer. It was politics, it was the future of his people, against a few innocents. He could understand why this decision had been reached...it was just much harder to be there executing the detached will of an uncaring society.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, breaking away from the woman whose affection and trust he'd betrayed. He spared one last look toward the wolf whose life he'd taken, and the mysterious attacker who now howled his despair to the ocean. A man who only raised a hand to defend those who couldn't. That was what Iskata had said. If it was true, Skoll had always had more right to these skills than he, or anyone in his murder-party, did.
There, at the end, he might have killed me, he thought. There was a chance, a last reserve of strength he hadn't called upon. He chose not to use it...wasted his last effort on a few, fleeting words. He didn't understand the point of that...I won't die a monster. What had been the relevance of that statement? The creature that had emerged, that had arisen within him but been drawn back a mere moment before attack...was there a lesson in that? Now that the cold focus of battle was gone from him, and humanity returned, he had to wonder. He reached his bloodied left claw up to the bleeding stub where his left ear used to be, and turned away from the scene. He had told Skoll this was for honor, but now he wondered if he knew what that was.
He picked up his pack, and two of his weapons, leaving the knife that had belonged to Skoll's protege in the sand. Taking it had been wrong in the first place. For all his cold certainty before, he couldn't spend another moment around Iskata, the stranger's crying form, or the dead man who yet sat in the sand, his body refusing to fall on its own. He made fast progress away from the three of them, north-west, away from the ocean.
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____
ooc
I Know I'll be okay, though my skies are turning gray
____Asphyxia quickly ran as fast as she could, knowing exactly where she was going. She didn't want to be right behind him because he would have told her to go back and she wouldn't have been able to see who walked away. Moving as fast as she could, panting and focusing on the prize, she ran her heart out till she got there. When she got there, her first sight was nothing, just shore but then she saw Skoll sitting up, head slouched. Did he win? But where was Asmodai? Breathing as she walked forward, she realized the copper smelling blood, it was all that she could smell and Skoll had his back turned to her, "Skoll?" when he didn't answer, she knew something was wrong, walking forward slowly she paced herself, bracing herself for what she was fearing this whole time. Finally able to see the side of his face, his chest wasn't rising and falling like it should have and that was her first clue. Looking down she could notice that his ribs were broken, tears sprung in her eyes and she didn't know what to do. At first she couldn't make a sound as she sobbed but then a choked sob came through.
____Quietly Asphyxia looked at him for a moment, "Skoll... get up. Please." she licked his face but his lifeless body toppled over, that's when she noticed the cut in his neck, the blood dripping down his right shoulder. Continuous sobbing was all that was sound, and the water breaking. Laying down beside his body, she scooted closer and rested her head on his chest. Asphyxia was now by herself... again. She was going to have to take care of Skoll's and her unborn children by herself, teach them everything she was sure Skoll wanted them to know. She was going to have to leave Inferni, although she wasn't sure if she could go to Shadowed Sun. "I... I love you." she sobbed as her tears fell against the weightless body underneath her. Although she sensed someone else with her, she looked to see Iskata and Lubomir, standing up she growled at them, "Why didn't you save him?! Why?!" her voice shook and broke in several places. They could have helped him, saved him but they didn't and then she realized that if he killed Skoll, he could have killed them too. Asphyxia knew she shouldn't get herself in to much pain, it could be dangerous for her children. With nothing more to say to anyone she laid back down next to Skoll as much as she could and put her head back down on his chest that wasn't beating. She'd stay there till she had enough courage to get back up, go see Garnet and tell her she was leaving Inferni for good and she was going to stray alone for a while, rather Garnet went with her or not.
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The answers he have her weren't enough but then again they never would have been. Too soon he'd given them and failed to look her in the eyes any longer as he pried her fists from his chest and had turned to walk away. Dropping to the sands she covered her face once more and weeped. She'd lost two friends in one moment and one she would never see again, the other was walking away fast into the distance.
Her heart was aching but it hadn't broken yet, the sudden voice that called out was what had done the breaking when she raised her red rimmed eyes and caught sight of Asphyxia racing towards the side of one Iskata had never thought would settle down. The pain that wailed inside her was washed over again with salty tears as those sad words of dispair called out across the lands. She turned her eyes away, knowing that she had no right to bare witness to the pain of a woman losing her mate, though the silver and gold lady knew the pain only too well.
Iskata flinched at the words the lady said, last time they'd met it had been much like this except it had been Asphyxia who had been broken and beaten, but her life had been spared. Rising from the sands Iskata moved to kneel opposite from Skoll and spoke softly, "He wouldn't let us.. He died as he lived.. you should know that.." her voice was pained as she admitted the truth. Skoll had lived and died defending those who couldn't defend themselves.. and yet this one time it was for his own life he'd fought.
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____Asphyxia's breath became shallow and she found it hard to just lay there with Iskata talking. She wanted to throw the female at first, wanted to beat her and give her the same fate as Skoll, but the only thing was, was that she realized that Iskata was right, there was nothing anyone could do. "I don't know what I'm going to do." she whispered really low, but it was probably hard to comprehend considering she was still crying her heart out. Quietly, she laid there, inhaling as much as she could of Skoll's scent. Asphyxia wanted to grab him and shake him till he came back alive.
____Wanting to get up and just run, but she couldn't, she felt attached to Skoll and didn't know what else to do. She'd lay there forever, but what about the pups? She'd kill them if she did that so she'd have to do something about it. Looking at Iskata, she saw the pain in the other woman as well. Asphyxia realized she lost a friend as well, but the black furred woman lost everything because she lost her mate as well.
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Iskata laid a hand on the dark hued lady's should as she shook her head softly. She knew that she should leave the woman to grieve but from her own past she knew that the girl may sit there for hours or even days. Her voice was soft as she spoke, "Asphyxia.. you can't stay here.." She sighed as she tried to gather her voice about her, to remain confident in her own words as she tried to convince herself as well as the newly widowed mate.
She knew that she'd have to return after taking care of the ebony woman to make certain that Skoll was laid to rest like he should be, but at the moment there was something more important, to take care of the one he loved. She found it ironic that the warrior would find himself messed up in the likes of Inferni but who was she to question love and fate. She lowered her head a moment before looking off into the distance as she spoke. "Let's find you a place to rest.. you'll need to take care of yourself, it's what he would have wanted." she swollowed hard against the words as she wished that Skoll was here to tell her those words. She wasn't the best at taking care of others.. how could she when she couldn't even take care of herself..
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