Work in progress

The Legend of Skull Strike the Murderer (A Skree-Gore Legendary Warrior)

Written by, Charles Uriarte (Charrio)

Part One, The Killing

Told by, TornEye the fourth Shaman of the FrostRoar Clan

Deep in a cave buried within the heart of a mountain that stood since time began, once a giant none could see the top but now worn but still a titan with it’s peak in the clouds. In the darkness only lit by small lamps that lead down the web wrapped walls to the home of the tribe FrostRoar. This night under the Sleeper’s moon, a new cub was born. Born to the lowest ranked family of the clan. The birth was of little notice to the rest of the families and barely by the chief, but this child was rage and savagery in flesh.

Growing up even as a baby he was a terror, but thankfully he saved it for his playmates and not his family. His family was his anchor to a normal life, his sanctuary where he could be vulnerable. The other cubs saw an oddity as the new lowly cub was wearing the white fur. Differences like this were strange and not taken as special or rare, more as a loner or outcast of sorts. Being taunted from the start “Gren” would fight and fight hard, savaging his foes and taking a beating and bruising too. The other cubs eventually left him alone and many families would not invite or include him in festivities. Only his mother would take him and provide him with choice tidbits from the feasts.

Soon his coming of age came, his warrior training which he thrived at, and even surprised his tutors who had to frequently remind him not to go too far. The other young warriors were soon jealous or carrying previous hatred from long fought battles and still licking wounds to one’s pride. One session in a fight between the chief’s son “Ollick” “Gren” pinned “Ollick” and growled for him to yield and yield he did not. “Gren” then savaged “Ollick” badly tearing the skin around his throat and the tutors had to remove him by force.

It took half a moon for the wounds to heal and the blood-binder to  declare him ready for war. “Ollick” Did not forget who did it to him and his hate was focused or “Gren”. While he was mending “Gren” was praised for the fight he had as “Ollick” was quite the fighter. While healing the Weavers whispered things to him as they do to all of us, he heard the praising even from them diving him to rage and planned revenge. Using the aid of his closest followers he waited till “Gren” was alone and made his move. The day was bright and the chance was now,

“Gren” was alone and vulnerable. As we all know battles can happen anytime and challenges are to be answered.

“Ollick” came out into the open as his two cronies moved to the sides, making his challenge with a roar. “Gren” Looked at “Ollick” in the eyes and saw death’s intent. The scent of two on the sides betrayed their presence, foolish standing where the wind gives you away. The sun blinding and warm, Weavers in “Gren’s” fur warned him of the incoming strike as he was blinded. Stepping back and swinging around he dodged the blow meant for his neck, “Ollick” had meant to kill.

This infuriated “Gren” as it is taboo to kill our brothers. Responding with a blow meant to stun “Gren” smacked “Ollick’s” snout hard sending him back while he recovered. The two cronies made their moves, charging and baring teeth, “Gren” could smell their rage and murderous intent.

Again a weaver in his fur tipped him off which way to spin, “Gren” had learned early on that weavers attempt to alert one if you but listened. Rolling to the side and feeling the claws drag across his flank painfully with the intent to rip in and disembowel.

Instinct now took over and “Gren struck upward his claws digging into the neck and under the jaw bone and into the base of the skull. They were dead before they fell to the ground and the first splatter of blood dripped from “Gren’s” Claws. “Gren” Was furious, and the smell of fresh blood excited him, in arousal and his wrath. Top warrior among the young stepping into the ranks of warriors.

Being trained in dozens of types of ways to deal with an opponent and the natural skills to use them “Gren” was the predator here. “Ollick’s” Comrade seeing the still body of his comrade stole the fear from him and made his anger lead him, this was stupid an angry warrior is easy to bait and kill. By this time “Ollick” had recovered from the blow to the snout and was closing so “Gren” Made his move. First he needed to dispatch the crony so he wouldn’t be defending on two fronts. Seeing the inexperienced fool run directly forward without so much as a glance to his partner made “Gren” smile as he jumped to the side making the charging foe slide to stop.

Striking when the exact chance came, taught to wait even when it seems painfully so, the moment came and he struck. The strike was solid and the claws dug deep and the sputtering grunt was all that left his victim’s throat. Catching him in the back of the head and penetrating the brain his death was assured. “Ollick” Bellowed out his rage and blood lust, he should of been running, “Gren” was done playing he meant to eat him.

Moving forward with sureness and intent it finally dawned on “Ollick” His death was before him and it was smiling. Fear crept into the young warrior’s mind as he saw his death approach, terror bound his muscles and paws. “Gren” could smell the fear as his last pawsteps closed the distance, it was delicious and intoxicating. As if bowing his head in acceptance of his own fate, “Ollick” submitted as so many do in time of death he embraced it.  “Gren” was deep into his feed when movement and snorts caught his attention, looking up from the partially eaten body of “Ollick”. The faces of several elders were eyeing him and the carcass he was feeding on, looking about they noted the two other slain warriors. Everyone knows death lurks everywhere, we Skree-Gore are the teachers in death.

Standing tall, “Gren” proclaimed his victory, his white coat stained crimson with the blood of his three would be assassins. “I killed these whelps who tried to bring death but only found it grinning at them” He announced proud of his victory. The warrior elders knew this was no good at all, the death of the chief’s son would not go down well. Shrills of alarm and shock echoed off the path as more came to see and smell.

To be Continued.

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