I GOT A BONE TO PICK

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[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] Divinity was a fickle thing fragile like a candle lit on a windy night. It was so easily given- a small glimmer of a flame quickly turning into an inferno. Capable of so much distruction- of so much growth within a matter of days. Wrecking havoc- stealing power other divine once given a taste for it. Punishing the deserving- until the line of deserving- of justice and revenge and lust start to bleed together. Until everything that moved was an enemy and the divinity was just a means to exorcise will- inflicting that same wraith onto others.

It had everything and nothing to do with exorcising the power someone can hold. The ability to hold it over someone lower than yourself. Treating the weak- reminding them of their place. Proving to the world that the saying was true. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Maybe the root of the evil in divinity was the fault in their predecessors. Immortals passing the torch down to something once powerless. Mortals unable to handle the divine and ultimately selfish creatures- turning and twisting. Contorting into dark macabre images of the desperate pawing mortal they once where. Now with the power and an unsteady hold for a unknown throne. Quick to prove themselves by throwing their mortality away just for a taste of what it is like to be powerful.

Argus knew few things about gods and their immortal nature. As a god of death- that immortality was fickle- and it became a game of waiting for the clock to stop to waiting for the second ball to drop. There was no such thing as absolute power, no such thing as absolute divinity or immortality. Anyone can claim to be powerful, to be a god. That did not make them immortals. That did not even come close. Second that immortality was not a gift- so much as it was a curse.

The second was an absolute. Some gods punished each other with it. Casting them to some eternal blight and sending them on a useless task to teach them better. To force the rest of the forces into line by showing what happened when you messed with a god. Argus knew this personally. Her punishment to live eternally, to reap the souls and hunger for them all the same. For a moment of weakness. For dying too early on. She was granted the chance to walk with mortals and reap their mistakes with the swipe of a sword. Or punish them within her own tormented bowls and twisted psyche.

Argus was absolute in her thoughts of other gods. They were pricks. Some too powerful- throwing that power to the wind and quick to be dethroned. Apathetic and mighty and wrathful- Watching the world with distant cold hands and bloodied teeth as they smeared at the beings that walked it. Punishing the unworthy. Deeming the weak minded a taste of power just to watch them edge to brinks of insanity begging pleading for more. There were the weaker ones. Either already gone mad or still holding onto hope. Clutching their powers like a teddy in a cold winter night. And where did argus fall between them? She didn't.

Argus had a mixed feeling about most mortals. A bitter resentment for their ability to value things. To put values like love and hope into every walking step towards a goal that some would never live to see. She hates that she was born with these feelings with a human’s sense to feel and the curse of immortality did nothing to strip it off of her. She feared attachment, she loved few but deeply, she had raged at a loss and betrayal both. It would be better to be emotionless, it would be easier if she were a distant god watching some speck of a world and weave power through their veins, but it was hard to walk the earth forever and gain friendships like spare change. Interchangeable and never permanent. Hard to love and allow herself to love anyone when she knew they were but a day in her ever-expanding life. It was a fruitless endeavor, but she caught love like a disease on occasion, and she threw herself into each wholely and laughed when it was thrown all back into her face. It was Tireing and useless, a fickle struggle like a bug under a boot. Unable to move and frozen in fear, unable to move on and allow herself to move on.

It was easy to fake interest, easy to fake anything but hard to conceal. Hard to contain her emotions. She was interested in mortals, in their little lives and ability to prioritize others before themselves. But that interest concealed a green jealousy that could only be expressed by making them like her. She had, she had turned other’s into emotionless husks and made them feel as vividly at her and screamed- screamed with them at the injustice except at least they had someone to blame. They could point a finger at her and be saved from the hell she would give them. But she was forever stuck in the stasis. She was the atlas to her story and in her darkest moments, she struggled to remember how to cry for herself in pity. She would clutch at the living with a desperate keen and try to push away the vividly of her memories. Never able to forget what she had lived through, all the happy and all the insanity. It wasn’t so much the ghosts of the dead that haunted her as much as it was the living, and it was still the living that terrified her. The living that killed her without an ounce of pity and the living that she cried for. It was the living. It was the living.

It was in the coldness of the typhoon that the watcher trenched. thinking about Divinity and Mortality and wondering how someone went about breaking it to a person she valued- a person she didn't want to loose that she was a god. She was the harbinger of death, but she had never stopped being mortal. How silly, and bizarre a conversation would be. To try and explain it- put into words. How she felt.

What an odd conversation it would be.

// [member=580]Kratos[/member]

Like Argus, Kratos had also been turned into a god. It hadn’t been a punishment—not in the beginning. He was an ambitious man, driven to succeed and defeat anyone who crossed his path, all in the name of his homeland. Ultimately, it would be his downfall, striking a deal with the Greek God of Warfare, Ares. Driven to the brink of defeat, he had called to the god, and was gifted a weapon crafted by powerful hands to strike down his enemy. He would become a follower of Ares, blindly killing those who were deserving, and those who were not. So much blood had been shed by him alone. Some nights he could still hear the screams of the innocent or see their fearful eyes staring at him in the dark.

His choices had set forth a butterfly effect of pain and suffering, most of which he also suffered. He struck down Gods, was quick to accept deals, and even became the new God of War after dethroning Ares and striking him down. And then there had been Zeus’s betrayal, Kratos’s uncontrollable fits of rage and determination to strike down every last Greek God and Goddess.

Immortals can die, but the strongest ones— the ones imbedded in the memories of so many across the world-- they never stay dead for long. His genocidal run through Olympus ended in mystery to all but him. All that mattered now, was that he was alive and attempting to create a new life for himself.

Snowbound was soft. He almost let his anger drive him to fight a child. Not to mention their leader was just a child. It was bothersome. Some days he wonders why he even stays. But maybe he likes the calm of it all; not having to spill blood every day was a welcome change. But he still had struggles in such an open community. They’re so optimistic, so carefree and naïve and he doesn’t understand. 5 years without human contact could do that to a man. But he tries. Every day he gets up and faces his new home and each time it’s nerve wracking.

He got angry again today; struck another tribemate after a screaming match over something he forgot—if anything it was pointless and stupid. Kratos had to dismiss himself, which led him far from the warmth of camp, trudging through the snow with his head low and lost in his own mind. It wasn’t until he caught another scent through the freezing cold, unfamiliar and strange. Instinctively, he tensed and looked up and around before spying Argus several feet away. He still doesn’t like people, and he thinks about just turning around and leaving, considering he hadn’t yet been noticed. But this time he doesn’t. The large battle scarred grolar bear slowly moves forward, keeping an eye on the female as he approached, quiet and holding a cold expression- a normality with him. “If you have no business with Snowbound, leave.” he demanded calmly, breaking the previously silent air.

"SPEECH"

I GOT A BONE TO PICK

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[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] For now, godhood was considered a disgrace upon her mortal nature. Maybe in another universe Argus would look upon her power with hope that she could put a stop to all the needless hurt. Look above the duty imposed on her in such a fragile time and go above and more. But argus wasn’t a good person. She was born in a moraless clan and saw the wretched of the world much too early. She had seen the world and knew better than to attempt to change it. Only hoping, praying that she could inspire some sense of tranquility not only in her home, but those around her.

For now it was more about trying to make up her own sins. Trying to erase the woes of her own corruption to which build a better foundation.To erase some of the needless guilt that soiled her conscious.  Killua had been the target of her rage for some time, It was only recently that she had started to see differently- only to see someone with the same burdens as her. Maybe not godhood, but too much blood on their paws. Trying to be better and lean off of the horrid morality that they were borned- conditioned to be in. She knew that there were other’s out there. And outside her influence they will become war machines. Monsters of mass-destruction and acolites of revenge and their insistent justice. Maybe in another verse she would still be that person. Unkind, lost in her own emotions.

Argus was not within the snowbound out of invite. It was more of an insistent nagging at the moment. A way to sneak into the good graces of the deputy and gain his trust. Maybe she could become a constant staple within snowbound. She had been hearing rumors of Pincher thinking about envoys- and argus would sure to be quick to volunteer. She spent enough time here as it was- might as well be considered part of her job at this point.

Seeing the large frame of a grolar amung the snow was a smear in the snow. Her dull red eyes directing towards the other. Snapping her of her current thought and with much grimace bringing her to the presence of not only him- but the biting cold. See, if there was one thing she disliked it was the snow. Petty as it was it always gotten into her fur, and while she has been careful to stay away when it snowed she knew better than to hope for a day to see these lands without it. It was their namesake afterall. No the snow was merely a mild irritation, and seeing a stranger challenge her right to talk with an ally was enough to ruffle her fur even more.

“ Ura ura, and who says i do not have any business?” Argus challenges the other openly. Letting for a moment her own irritation rise through her voice. The large frame of the snowbounder was hardly seen as a deterrent to the wolf. Maybe not fair in size but argus has never relied on brute strength to win her fights as much as reckless abandon. With the words she let her own instincts sing for a moment. Buried the need of lethality in a fight but a fight nonetheless. She wasn’t the kind of person to allow her own desires directly influence her actions- and she was not someone who allowed herself to use other’s in such a horrid way that she might’ve before.

She was not noble enough to call this entirely for the benefit of the other either. While he seemed frustrated at the moment- gruff and obviously looking for a fight. She was not ignorant of her own willingness to start a fight. If not only for her own sake than both of theirs. It would not due to have her come here so irritated, and best way was the battle it out, as always.

Making up for past sins. No matter how much someone could do to aid others, was it really helping your case? Kratos had takes hundreds of lives, and making up for it wasn't an option for him. In his eyes, nobody could make up for the crimes they had committed. All he can do to try and ease his own conscious is run from his past and reach out for any attempt to be better than he had been. It's a foolish attempt. When She visits his nightmares, She makes it top priority to remind Kratos of this. Yet he still tries.

His patience for the canine wears thin. Any little thing always seemed to set Kratos off. It was like walking on eggshells with him. Argus's challenge does not go unnoticed. The bear narrows his burning gaze and he bares his fangs just a bit in warning. "Sate your purpose or leave. You waste my time, girl." The skin under the leather bandages around his front forearms burns hot, calling for a weapon he has long since stored away deep in the cave systems of Snowbound. As much as he doesn't wish to fight, he won't refuse to back down from a challenge if Argus wished to push his buttons.

oof rip im out of it//
"SPEECH"

SOMEBODY SHOWED YOU ALL OF THE HORROR-
YOU WEREN'T BORN WITH IT!

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[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] Argus was coy. Amung the sands of the desert when she had much to fear from starving in the sands- she had learned the trade of manipulation well. Maybe it was not truly important until later in her life. Bartering her own clan for tastes of revenge. Giving away any home she had allowed and brokered a devil deal for the downfall and corruption of her home. Once upon a time, there was a beast made of ashen fur who saw a clan made of lies and saw fit to join them, to show the world it's fatal folly for putting such fallacies onto this earth. Once upon a time Argus was a beast made of some broken justice. Blinded behind pale ivory paws and a kid- her kid whispering in her ear his dying breath.

Now manipulation was part of her nature, toying with her enemies and friends like common fooder. Maybe in certain aspects she was slowly detaching herself from this world. Maybe it was why she clung so fiercely to the little attachments she had left with this world. Sinking her teeth, fangs deep under the skin of her allies and holding on until it broke under her paws. Until each mortal that was her's was left with claw marks. Everything precious marked in red- in r u i n

As much as argus would like to deny it, it is in her nature. To cling, to manipulate. A family leaving her unsatisfied, and the ones she had made for herself only bloody corpses in the dirt. It was no wonder why she clung so harshly. Living in the sands, brawling with her 'clanmates' and swimming through lies and betrayal. It was no wonder she wanted to contort everyone to feel the same as her. to cling her her just as fierce.

That was her danger. Not the near immortality nor the demon touched gift that created shadows along her paws. But her want to bring Mortals to her own will, to drag down immortals and rip out their vulnerability. To create monsters was second nature of a monster. The tortured turning into the torturer. The damaged only giving more damage.

The brawler brawling.

Argus felt her own irritation snap into clear hostility at the word. Girl. Argus has never tolerated herself to be subjugated in such a way- treated like something fragile and delicate. She was crafted in the sands of a desert, chipped and broken and raw and this war-torn brute saw fit to look upon the scars that litter her and call her something so low. A snarl escaped her throat. All amusement and humored challenge brake into something dark and savage.

A monster, removing it's mask.

"Do not look upon me and pretend to know me Tarook" Garu fell from her maws in a declaration. The old language made under the light of the moon, whispered only in the ears of demons feel from her maw as if it were her first language. Accent making consonants thick her mind blissfully blank to the consequences she would surly face- her only thoughts directing towards the other's strength and determining the best way to bring him to his knees. Make this quick. Make him suffer. She was creating a time frame that she usually visited and being too late would draw suspicion.

Like all good things. It was their nature a natural born instinct that could never be changed. Ina  world of the unchanged, argus thought it fit to attempt to change herself. She was too stubborn to admit her wrongs. Too scared to and too emotion to let herself give in to the nature of Obscurity.

She made a duck closer, predicating a quick strong slap to push her back. Left wing propelling her back word- edges of her flight feathers pushing up snow into the other's face to hopefully obscure his sight as she quickly backed out of his range. Her feet light and silent as she twisted- her iron claws aiming to rip through the tendon of one of his front paws- or at least hit it harsh enough to send him to his knees.

"My business here is my own. You would do best not to concern yourself with the unfinished business of the dead." Because that was what this was, wasn't it? Because in the end argus was in a body a living breathing body but she was dead. She has been dead for so very long it was a wonder she remembered what it was like to live. She was here to carry out her own unfinished business, or maybe make amends with the ghosts she has spat upon that horrid night. Make amends with the child that died in her arms.

This brawler had no right to stop her. But she had every right to stop him.

/aaa, no worries! Hope you don't mind muse overloard