stomach to the floor

*Gargoyle I* · 06-21-2013, 07:06 PM

[Image: gargie_recokoning_by_kidrylm_writer-d63xnxj.png]

~*~

Different creatures reacted differently to challenges of their power; Some were enraged, some were horrified, some scared, some cocksure and full of laughter. Gargoyle? Well Gargoyle had never considered how he'd react, because frankly, he hadn't given such things as these flimsy challenges much thought. When he did his preparations, it was for all out war, not a single one on one upon the ground of battle. Why in heaven's name would anyone be foolish enough to do that? For one thing, there was the brute himself - all of 41 inches, a size once thought to belong only to the dire wolves of legend, made strong by years of snowplowing and mountain climbing, and supple by far too much experience. But apart from him there was Glaciem itself. Anyone who knew anything of the pack, knew that it wasn't your average mob. An outside of great warrior's ability might concievably make it past the Chief, but then they'd be faced with a veritable army of angry loved ones and followers.

To the winner would go the spoils...

The snow crunched underfoot as Gargoyle stepped up to the chosen arena. He surveyed his would be competition with utterly lifeless yellow eyes. It was a female, and a young one, probably barely past her first heat. With bright eyes and a pelt of greys and cinamins, she was a pretty thing - and large too. Or at least would seem so standing next to just about any wolf but Gargoyle. At thirty seven inches, she was a good head shorter than the Northern Drake.

Looking her over, gauging her muscle mass, analyzing her posture and balance - it all came like lightning shots to the male's head; A trait he'd trained so hard that it had become mere insinct. He was already wondering how much fur was between the air and her jugular, when he had the sense to shake his head and blink away the thoughts. Darker ones would follow. Oh how he'd missed this. Gods above, it wasn't right, he knew, but he wanted to grin. He wanted to leap for joy. He wanted to shed some heart's blood.

And yet somewhere amid his euphoria, his good sense drew him back. Other wolves weren't his play things. This girl here, whoever she was, she had a soul and a life and a family -- and apparently friends too from the sight of those Valhallans having a pow-wow off on the sidelines. She had her whole life ahead of her.

At the very least, she deserved some sort of knowledge of what she was getting herself into.

Gargoyle didn't even bother with a hello or a name. They hadn't come here for pleasantries. If she wanted tea and biscuits she could pop over to the Amenti border and say hi.

"I am from the old race.-" The male's voice came out in a low, rumble, without life or tone. He'd stepped himself into the ring, and now, he sat, as primed and rigid and the doberman who's blood he carried. There was a good two yards between them, and with his reflexes it might as well have been a river's breadth. He was here to fight, yes, but as she was the challenger and he the recipient, he would do so on his own terms. "-We do not play with hellfire and expect to come away unsinged. I will not state exacts, for I know not your mind, but the loser of this bout is to expect no mercy. Speaking for myself, I hold no ill feeling for you-" other than sorrow over her stupidity "- and I would feign touch a hair on your head, but I cannot speak for myself after I have begun a fight. If you carry on with this challenge, you face that which was once known as the "God of Death" in distant reaches of West. This is your only warning."

Trumpet blowing. It was such vulgar stuff. For one thing, any mange-ridden son of a coyote could mesh together enough words to sound threatening, and for a second, words, no matter how powerful and truthful, would never be able to describe the monster that Gargoyle had once been. On any other occasion, Gargoyle wouldn't have even bothered saying anything. Why warn his opponent? Far better to just walk in, accept, and then tear them to shreds. Even now his claws were feeling that old familiar itch. How long had it been since he'd flayed something other than a deer?

Ack! But that was just the problem! That was why he'd said something.

Once he started he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to kill casually again. Heaven and Hell only knew what it would do to him - the memories it would awaken.

Throughout all this, not a flicker was seen in those yellow lamps; not a shift of fur, or twist of brow; Gargoyle might as well have been carved of granite. But appearances could be fooling. Under his thick winter coat, muscles were coiling as smoothly as snakespawn. While his tongue might be trying to ward the match off, the rest of his body wanted this. Wanted this oh so badly.

~*~

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stomach to the floor

Gargoyle I