Challenge.

[Skoll]

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"Because you have something of theirs, which they don't want you, or anyone else, to have," he answered. "An old member of their group, a man named Gronnor, gave it to you. The fighting style you employ was the legacy of GreyClaw, and it was not meant to be shared or extended to outsiders." His eyes widened. That was one piece of news that would never have seen coming. Gronnor...his teacher, his mentor, the man who had been a father to him for what was, in retrospect, such a short time. Skoll had never learned where that old man's prowess had come from, never been able to determine where such skill may have emerged, though he had concluded a long time ago that more than simple experience had been needed for that devastating result, perhaps personal genius or an ancient art recovered from some long lost tomb. Now he knew. Gronnor had been taught the same way Skoll had, in youth, in preparation for a life of battle. It made more sense than the romantic ideas he'd cooked up. But if this group wanted him dead, then... "Then Gronnor...!" The cold figure waited a moment, just looking at him, then nodded slightly, not letting his eyes leave the bronze wolf. "You! You killed him!?" he felt his hackles raise as his muscles tensed, ready to set upon this wolf immediately, but was deterred by an upraised hand and slight shake of the head. "I did not kill him. My teacher did. One against one. He was given the offer to return home; his two students were offered a place in GreyClaw, also. The students refused, so Gronnor refused also." The gray wolf's right hand had swung behind to his backpack, ready to draw some sort of weapon, Skoll surmised, if he took another step closer. The words had been enough to stay him, though that didn't mean rage for this wolf did not still burn. "So he died for his honor?" The other warrior nodded his head. "But your group killed the students as well?" Another nod. "All because they wouldn't abandon their homes to join you?" There was no answer forthcoming, but there was quiet affirmation in the stranger's brown eyes. "You see, the way I was brought up, if you kill someone who can't defend themselves, and have done nothing wrong, it's called murder." His words were thick with righteous disdain and hatred. He had considered going back to visit Autumn Leaf someday, but now that would never happen. He would never see that old man again. Asmodai was unfazed by his words. Those brown eyes didn't move from Skoll's, and he betrayed no emotion at the observation. "It wasn't their doing, it was their teacher's. He could have foreseen the reaction of his people at such a betrayal. A betrayal that started with you. Nevertheless, we were willing to give everyone a place among us, provided they were willing to let our secrets stay within our organization. Because they were not, they were killed." "It seems a lot of trouble to go through just to ensure that your skills don't do anyone else any good. If your group is so big, why would you fear an old man and his students?" Why would you kill them? Retribution for a symbolic crime, only? There was a pause after that question, a twinge, for the briefest moment, a haunted look entered those cold, dark eyes. "It wasn't the first generation of students we were afraid of, Skoll Axehand." He took another step back before drawing a knife, a knife that Skoll recognized as the companion of the one he had taken from Soro's body. Skoll drew his own knife, for protection...and then realized. No. A long pause entered their conversation, a period of silence through which nothing would break. Skoll could smell Lubomir nearby, he was probably looking in even now, but he couldn't compose himself. His face fell at the final realization...he knew where those knives had come from. "Art...you monsters killed Art!" He wanted to be angry, he wanted to be furious, to draw his axe and cut this man to pieces, but he couldn't. A heavy weight, from ages past, seem to be dragging at his heart, and he could not make himself move. "Yes. And his protege. It isn't the present that drives this, Skoll. We never feared Gronnor and the four wolves to whom he passed his knowledge. We feared the future that they might create. A rival for even ourselves...for the future well-being and preeminence of GreyClaw, we could not permit a large population of fighters using our stolen secrets." Guilt-ridden thoughts flashed like lightning through Skoll's mind. He had ruined Art's life when he led him away from his pack and taught him the way of the warrior, only to see him driven to the brink of insanity under the torture of a sick enemy. Now, his interference had ended that wolf's life, as well. Another period of silence followed Asmodai's words... ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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