Last thread, man >_>


Two weeks from term and she was running like a wraith South-West, cloak flowing behind her, pack smacking against her back, one knife pulled, the handle clutched tightly. Two weeks from becoming a parent and here she was, breaking her vow to herself, when she'd told herself she would not do it, not become a slave to her trade. But what Asmodai had done... the words Iskata had said still rang in her ears and she merely quickened her pace. The murderer.


She saw him staring out to sea and stopped. A pregnant dark warrior, with blue eyes which seemed to shine with anger and a smirk on her face. No longer a merchant, now she showed herself for what they both knew her to be. A mercenary. Ruthless, efficient, silent, deadly. Asmodai's days were over. She called out to him, her voice no longer pleasant, for it dripped with malice and contempt. What a useless waste of training. Never bring in witnesses to a kill. It only made matters difficult. Pity, Hel had actually liked him. Asmodai! I've come for you. Answer for the death of Skoll Axehand or prepare to receive your reward. And with that, she closed the distance between them, till she was only a few feet away. Close enough to grab, far enough to make sure she would be safe for now. Slowly, almost painfully so, she took out an arrow and put it in her bow, making the string tauten. There. All set.

Indeed, but it can still be a good one!



He thought he'd smelled her coming, just for a moment when the wind had shifted, but he had decided to stay put. When Hel's voice rang out behind him, his right ear twitched, the left now gone and patched, and he calmly rose to his feet, before turning around. Her eyes burned with hate, though if it was her own or Iskata's, he wasn't sure. Perhaps her enmity had been earned him by his deception, rather than his deed. It was clear that, if she herself had never killed anyone, she had grown up comfortable with the concept. He imagined this had more to do with lying than with killing. It didn't really make a difference now, though, unless he planned to talk himself out of it.


"Answer?" he said, quietly, thoughtfully, before shaking his head. "There's no way to. Even I think what I did was wrong, so I won't be able to change your mind about shooting me." He looked away, focusing on a slight hill of sand to his right. "He was a good man, by all accounts. I don't know if you knew him, but he was like us, except...not. Everyone knew what he did, but they didn't drive him away. He didn't hide anything, he wore the scars of his profession, dozens of them. How did he get those scars? Fighting for people he didn't know, for reasons that usually didn't directly concern him." He looked back into her eyes. "I killed a legend. I was able to follow him here by news of his exploits alone. Such people aren't supposed to actually exist. I know some of the tales were embellished, but it's still...surreal." His words were staying the emotion that wanted to emerge. He regretted all this, but what could he do now?


"You once asked me where I learned to fight. The answer is GreyClaw. A warrior society, which has produced the best unarmed fighters the world over, and eventually the best armed fighters, also. The legacy of GreyMane is our birthright, the art of hand-to-hand fighting, battle on two legs. We have developed his creation over seven generations, and we will continue to do so over many more." He could end it there, on a proud note, let her shoot him, let it be done, but he kept talking.


"Yet, eight years ago, one of our masters of the art fled us. We had become too ambitious, too dark in our hunger for power, and he wouldn't have it. He fled his family and community, and started a new life, and taught many students in the art of self-defense. When he was discovered, an expedition of four warriors and one elder was sent out, tasked with bringing back or killing the renegade and any outsiders to whom he had illegally passed our secrets. I was among that number, and Skoll was the last among the outsiders." There was more, but he was out of breath, his ribs still creaking from the abuse, and so he rested. If she wanted to shoot him, there wasn't anything he could do, or anything he wanted to do. Truth be told, it made sense anymore for someone to snuff him out, and what better place than near the ocean which he had come to love so much.