08-21-2008, 04:00 PM
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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.
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.