Re: The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Round 1: Circumlocution]
08-18-2011, 09:57 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.
Redclaw had been bounding across the snow, feeling every muscle and tendon sing with the sweet ache of real use. Fanned out behind him were his warriors, all one-hundred fourteen of them. All of them were fierce, strong, worthy, but none were his equal. He threw his head back and howled exuberantly, and one by one his entire pack joined in until the whole land was ringing which their triumph. The first blow had been struck, and though the degenerate artificers may not have yet realized it, war was coming. And Redclaw would be its chief.
It was with this thought still reverberating in his mind that Redclaw vanished.
Now he found himself deposited on the wrecked, rusting remains of a large car. Sunlight filtered down through the overhanging foliage, and snowmelt streamed off of his fur to run in rivulets down the metal hulk. Redclaw wondered if placing him here, on this machine, was meant as a jibe at him. Its destruction was already complete, however, so there was no harm in it. The undergrowth of the forest was already beginning to work its way in and prise apart any remaining structure. In his hand was the coin that the puffed-up pissant had tossed at him while he was held motionless. Above an engraving of his own snarling face, it read "Redclaw, Son of Redtooth, Warchief of the Lakes People" and below it had simply "114." Redclaw snorted and squeezed closed his fist, but the coin stubbornly refused to crumple. Biting down on it similarly had no effect. It was an impressive material, at least. He slipped it behind his badge of office for safe-keeping.
Of course, he had no intention of competing for the "position" promised. He was already in a very comfortable position and only wished to return to it. If he was gone too long, Greymane would take over as Warchief in his stead, and it would be a shame to have to kill his strongest warrior to reassert himself. He lifted his nose to the wind and sniffed rapidly in different directions, trying to catch the scent of his clan. There was nothing, not that he expected much. The mountains rising in the distance and the warm air already told him he was nowhere near Lakes territory.
Past the treeline, a commotion at the edge of a small lake caught Redclaw's attention. The huge lizard was grappling with the metallic snake, before lifting it over his head and hurling it into the lake. Triumphan and Azungrada, Redclaw recalled. Triumphan was even larger than he, and clearly had an impressive strength. He would be a worthy foe, if it ever came to that. Past the lake, a lone building stood in the verdant meadow, rising out of the ground like a cyst on the land. Redclaw grimaced in distaste. At least he could leave this place better than he found it, he thought, loping through the trees around edge of the meadow, towards the offending structure.
Redclaw had been bounding across the snow, feeling every muscle and tendon sing with the sweet ache of real use. Fanned out behind him were his warriors, all one-hundred fourteen of them. All of them were fierce, strong, worthy, but none were his equal. He threw his head back and howled exuberantly, and one by one his entire pack joined in until the whole land was ringing which their triumph. The first blow had been struck, and though the degenerate artificers may not have yet realized it, war was coming. And Redclaw would be its chief.
It was with this thought still reverberating in his mind that Redclaw vanished.
Now he found himself deposited on the wrecked, rusting remains of a large car. Sunlight filtered down through the overhanging foliage, and snowmelt streamed off of his fur to run in rivulets down the metal hulk. Redclaw wondered if placing him here, on this machine, was meant as a jibe at him. Its destruction was already complete, however, so there was no harm in it. The undergrowth of the forest was already beginning to work its way in and prise apart any remaining structure. In his hand was the coin that the puffed-up pissant had tossed at him while he was held motionless. Above an engraving of his own snarling face, it read "Redclaw, Son of Redtooth, Warchief of the Lakes People" and below it had simply "114." Redclaw snorted and squeezed closed his fist, but the coin stubbornly refused to crumple. Biting down on it similarly had no effect. It was an impressive material, at least. He slipped it behind his badge of office for safe-keeping.
Of course, he had no intention of competing for the "position" promised. He was already in a very comfortable position and only wished to return to it. If he was gone too long, Greymane would take over as Warchief in his stead, and it would be a shame to have to kill his strongest warrior to reassert himself. He lifted his nose to the wind and sniffed rapidly in different directions, trying to catch the scent of his clan. There was nothing, not that he expected much. The mountains rising in the distance and the warm air already told him he was nowhere near Lakes territory.
Past the treeline, a commotion at the edge of a small lake caught Redclaw's attention. The huge lizard was grappling with the metallic snake, before lifting it over his head and hurling it into the lake. Triumphan and Azungrada, Redclaw recalled. Triumphan was even larger than he, and clearly had an impressive strength. He would be a worthy foe, if it ever came to that. Past the lake, a lone building stood in the verdant meadow, rising out of the ground like a cyst on the land. Redclaw grimaced in distaste. At least he could leave this place better than he found it, he thought, loping through the trees around edge of the meadow, towards the offending structure.