Trophy

He had won, and oh how satisfying it had been. Regardless, he would not rest until the foolish Valhallans realised their place; beneath the Glaciems. It seemed their spirits were still far too high for ease of comfort, and so war would so hastily be upon them. Swaying, he would walk with an untainted pride, clotted blood staining the sides of pale face as he would meander towards the den of which his new trophy would slumber. Though not hugely interested in the girls company, as he figured she would be as much of an unfurling monster of anger as ?Azalea? had been upon her arrival, he supposed there was no real harm in testing the waters. Though still restoring his energy from the battle, a little amusement had never gone astray. He would pause barely a meter from where her alluring cent would linger, chuckling weakly, ?Why is my little medal not on display?? voice was teasing, taunting as he awaited her withdrawal from her hideaway.