Kerosene and a Fistful of Matches
11-24-2017, 05:41 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-24-2017, 07:38 PM by Amon.)
Amon thrummed with energy. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, his body seemed alive with electricity. The titan thought that, should he truly concentrate on it, he may very well be able to call down bolts of lightning from the heavens above. And why not? Today was just such a day for calamity. He had considered their plan from every angle, he had taken in the thoughts and opinions of his kin, and he had allowed himself time to deliberate. None had seemed terribly attached to one particular land, nor opposed to any one pack of mortals. All that was left to them was geographic advantage, and this was a breed of strategy that Amon particularly enjoyed. The shadowy brute had intended to make a tour of Boreas, as he was undeniably more familiar with Auster, for the sake of making an informed choice. In truth, he had not gotten far. After crossing the Bifrost a thought occurred to him. To control a continent, a key implement of this was to control travel. Positioning themselves in the north of Auster, or the South of Boreas, meant their influence on the narrow strip of land between the two would be unquestionable. A pack named Talis held land near the land bridge, but his sister had been able to interact with their leader without feeling a need to disembowl him, which led Amon to believe they may prove to be adequate resources in the future wars to come. An alliance with the mortal scum may lock down their control of the Bifrost permanently. No, best to leave them be for now. And so he had turned his eye to the southern coast of Boreas. Only one pack seemed to hold sway there, one that was unfortunately a ways removed from Auster, but one that existed nonetheless. Relocating their new pack would not be too arduous. Well, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. Amon looked over his shoulder, waiting to see if any of his kin had caught up with him yet. Certain they would be arriving shortly, Amon walked up to toe the edge of the border. The behemoth tipped his head back and led out a booming howl, one that rang with confidence and perhaps tinged with aggressive intent. He summoned this pack's alpha, intending to treat with them. Whoever led this band of mortal scum, Amon only hoped they had an acorn's worth of wit between their ears. Living bodies were much more useful than corpses, after all. Amon could only hope they would view things in the same light. He looked down to the wolverine who had chosen to travel with him for the time being. Gulo smiled up at him with a feral, hungry grin. He was as eager for the conquest promised as any other, it would seem. Amon smiled back and settled in to wait. |
Amon is prone to foul language, insulting comments, and the occasional act of violence.
His children are welcome in any and all of his threads!
His children are welcome in any and all of his threads!
