We Will Not Go Quietly

*Amon* · (This post was last modified: 01-27-2018, 06:51 PM by Amon.)

Amon met the child's tirade with an impassive face. Whatever might be said about him, he did not kill mindlessly. And while he had no strong aversion to cutting short a life that had not earned the right to waste space in this world, he knew that this girl would serve her purpose. They all would, himself included. Himself most of all.

The world around him was little more than one unfathomable chess board. Amon recognized the world around him for what is was, one giant game with many small pieces, each in possession of it's own skills and shortcomings. He recognized that he did not have knowledge of each individual piece, could not see how they interlocked, but Amon would attempt to manipulate them regardless. Her family was broken, the girl would whine. And it was Amon's doing apparently. It was worth a laugh, if little else.

"We came to your borders offering you salvation, a place of honor in the heavens, eternal glory. Your father met my offer with crude discourtesy and demanded one of us die that day. As a guest in his domain, who was I to deny this request?" Amon paused, to blink passively at the small,
odd-furred whelp. "I do not think he was brave, nor do I think he was a fool. I merely think he was in the way. An obstacle to be overcome."

The girl believed they were prisoners. Amon tipped his head back and let out a gentle chuckle, one far too warm and nigh bordering charismatic, especially given the circumstances. This pup was both naive and idiotic if she believed this was the treatment one afforded prisoners. "What guard has been posted at your watch? What food have you been denied? I must say, if this is how prisoners were treated in your father's pack, it is no wonder your spineless compatriots fled like worms at the sound of our arrival. No, little girl, you are not a prisoner of mine. I would consider you an honored guest, if you had been raised with the courtesy or manners to present yourself as such. Instead I will use you as a messenger."

Before the pup had time to squawk out a rebellion, claim she would do nothing of the sort, would never stoop to heeding any demand leveled by her captor, Amon pressed on. "Before you wail and rail, I only ask that when you speak of what transpired, you tell the truth. We arrived, respecting your borders until your father arrived. You were offered a choice. It was extended to each member of your pack, you know, but Ganta did not see fit translate it to you. A place among us as allies, or a place across the battlefield, as our enemy. A choice was made, and a life was lost. Is that so evil? That a man request death, and it be delivered? You say he fought for what he believed in. If Ganta truly loved and cherished his kin, why would he not wish to see them amongst our own prosperous ranks?"

Amon shrugged, brushing the matter aside.

"I release you, Philomena. You will leave our borders unscathed to pursue your life as you wish. Ganta did not see fit to provide you with a choice of your own, so I will give it back to you. However," he paused, voice growing deeper, hardening with an edge of danger that had yet to surface in their conversation. "The next time we meet, the choice will not be Ganta's. It will be your own. We inhabit weak, mortal frames in a world dominated by immense forces we have no hope to control. A world of gods, and those to weak to do aught but be crushed beneath their weight. A time will come when you choose which role suits you better. For now..." Amon trailed off, jerking his muzzle towards the distant horizon, a border nearest to neutral lands.

"Begone. If my Soldiers catch scent of you within our borders after the coming dawn, you will be met as a tresspasser. And remember Philomena," he said, tone resuming it's light-hearted and lackadaisical tune. "I only ask that you speak the truth."

Walk, "Talk" Think

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