His immense form ascended upon the battlefield with adequate grace. He was a king that, though was forged to be temporary, had come to a grandeur liking of his placement. The world around him was swatched in so much more sin than ever he had thought. For some reason, whenever things came down to proteting people that really mattered to you everything was wrong. It was both good and bad. For example, the arkhos loved being in the loner lands, he loved exploring, and he loved being able to do things he did best. However, when out with his kids, wife, or even a fri//end that lived in Valhalla with him, he found that things were far harder for the simple fact, everyone posed a threat. Anyone could kill.
His eyes swept the borderlands, scents of vagabonds dancing all around him. It was a world that seemed to lack rules, one that condoned violence, acted as a proprietor to hell, and seemed to open the very doors of purgatory. Perhaps one of the two was where he was destined to sit, though, perhaps he had a seat upon a throne for the live he was living. No one knew what laid in the afterlife. It was a difficult, strenuous notion. Something that honestly, when one thought about was hard to digest. Would he disappear into nothing? Probably...no sense in spending too much time doting on it.
His eyes would fall upon a few trrees, their tall trunks placing them so very high in the sky and their green leaves winding down them. There was an elegance as the rays of light ascended upon them, creating a draped scenery on the earth. He had to find the beauty in something, and for him, on this day, it was the landscape. The eloquent design of the way Earth had been crafted, and oh how he loved it.
He, however, was not the only one in the proximity near the brilliant scene. There were two creatures, a man, and a woman. The male bore a scent that was far different from hers, not just the subtle difference between an oak and a maple, but the extreme difference of having a home, and not having a home. She wore something more clean, less dingy, and he had to admit that it was something a bit intriguing. His subordinates had been doing most of the work on the battlefield, and he had not much of a chance to meet the rogues the world still had. The male wore a scent that was more tainted, dancing in the ripened breath of others. Surely he belonged to a pack, and it was one the Valhallan emperor did not know of.
His head would lower to the female, a simple, meant to be delicate nod dropping from his head and before he rose his gaze would flicker to the monochromatic warrior. He would be pleasant so long as the deed was returned unto him. He was easy, his bestial form rising with grace and offering a general chuff in greeting. His baritones would come forward, whispering softly, pleasantly, and warmly into the girl's direction, and yet, the announcement of his title would be for the both of them to hear, "I am Collision, Imperator of Valhalla, may I inquire your name mistress, sir?" He was formal, his tones drawing to a sharp end and his large body rising to full height, hoping his appearance would not be disregarded.
Speech!
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