ardent

Second Chances All Around



Razo

Loner

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02-21-2014, 01:38 PM





The woman's snarl was not much of a warning, but it was all the brute need. He may have been in control of his mind, but his body had not forgotten his past. The voiced rage was followed by savage, pounding footsteps. Razo had only time to look over his shoulders and see a large, dark shape hurtling towards him at incredible speeds. He braced himself, and not a moment too soon, as her form collided with his. The incredible impact drove the wind from his lungs, but he did not allow his muscles to give out. He felt her teeth scrape at the nape of his neck, begging for purchase. With a colossal heave that man surged to the side, forcing the woman off of his back and onto the ground. He whirled then, and in a flash was standing atop her prone form, two massive paws resting on her rib cage, pinning her down. If anything could mark his passage from the world of brutality, this would be it. He did not feel a burning rage, nor did he prepare to lunge forward and take her jugular between his jaws. Instead he simply sighed. He recognized that face. "Platinum. What a joy it is to see you again," he mused, voice dripping sarcasm. She was a rare enough creature, and under different circumstances he might be pleased to meet up with her. Few women had managed to make a name for themselves within the Militants. Most who tried were simply used as fang fodder, placed on the front lines to tire out their enemies. But Platinum had been a rare woman indeed. Razo remembered word of her vaguely, mostly all the terribly things the brutes in his company wanted to do to her. But what on earth was she doing here? "Oh, a traitor am I?" He asked, chuckling. "And what's a lass like yourself doing so far from home? One might think you'd have a little more sense than to attack Razo the Demonborn." His brows lifted, wondering how she might react to hearing his own title, testing to see if word of his reformation had reached her.




"Talk" Think "You"
Some walk the common paths, all nice and worn

But all folks are damaged goods

It ain't a talk of "if," just one of "when" and "how"

So, collect your scars and wear 'em well