Killing Hawk and Old Wolf

August 5th, 2014: Fenris and Diarmuid make acquaintances.

New York City, SoHo

SoHo, NYC.



  • Civilians

Mood Music:

The business with the bean sidhe the other day has Fenris in a heightened state of alert. Granted he hasn't found the damn thing yes, nor is he sure that there's only one though… he sure hopes there's just one. In any case, he's not patrolling just at the moment, though he certainly is sniffing around for the damn wailing ghost. Just a stroll through SoHo. This is a fair piece from his home in the Bronx, but then things usually know better than to misbehave near his home.

People are avoiding Fen more than usual at the moment. His irritation at the increasing disturbances on his hunting grounds is bleeding through his illusion of normality and he's perhaps just a tad bit more frightening than normal.

Night air. Crisp night air! Well, it smells of disgusting modern age city but Diarmuid doesn't mind. He's striking a ridiculous pose with a foot up on top of a building, his spear rested on his shoulder as his chest sticks out there for all to see. He's got quite the magnificent god-like body after all. Who shouldn't stay and marvel!

It's not often he gets to escape the confines of Jake's spellbound cubbyhole anyways. That guy is a stick in the mud, worse than the worst priests of days gone. A derisive snort escapes the Celtic warrior and he scans the urban jungle before him, it's then that a scent one that strikes a chord beyond the typical physical based sensory ranges, a primal scent, one of a day long gone past when Gods walked the mortal plane and did battle, did party and did revel in blood.

A fighter like him doesn't shy from conflict and when in these densely packed stupid confines of communal living it's too hard to just 'hunt' your prey, you announce your presence.

Announce he does with a loud warcry that bounces it's echo off one side of the SoHo buildings to the next. A battle shout so loud it makes windows tremble and even a car alarm start to go off. What a dick.

There's a waft of a scent and a tingling on the edge of his magical awareness. Something is…

The yell gets his attention. Fenris looks up to see the great and terrible visage of the young man above. With a spear. That is no ordinary spear, he can tell just by looking at it. It's days like this that the god-wolf is glad that his weapons are subtle. Now people are edging away from the street to get a better look at what's going on. If it were Gotham, they'd probably be wondering where Batman is… but it's just New York. Glass shudders and cars wail and complain. Yes, I see you up there. Very subtle.

"Well… that's one way to announce yourself." The god-wolf notes dryly.

A survey and the spear points out as if it's an extension of his eyes, the sharpened gleaming metal tip wavering over each person in the crowd. "Release your glamor beast of old and show your true self! Let us do righteous battle so that the grounds may quake and the bards will sing praise!" Diarmuid's feelin' his oats tonight. He's in rare form. His brothers would be proud.

A grin appears across the man's rugged, predatory yet handsome features and he stops his weapon's tracking upon Fenris. "Is it you?"
No hesitation. The young man is a blur of motion and already slicing through the air like a Hawk seeking to land upon it's prey.

Now is not really the time to hold back. In less time than it takes to tell Fenris has yanked his silver necklace off, which has dutifully sprouted a blade. A big one. It'd be a two hander for a normal man. Fenris is neither normal, nor man which is evident as he leaps back a good fifteen feet, almost gracefully and settles into a fighting stance with his rod in one hand and blade in the other.

"You know, it's customary or used to be for the challenger to announce himself."

"I gave you warning, scrub." New lingo! Diarmuid is on the side of trendy. Cartoons being one of those things he can sit still for and about it when he's got freedom but still is confined, there isn't /always/ something going on.

"Manner of monster are you anyways? I smell it. The old world, the glorious times but you… I don't know you." Glistening yellow eyes narrow as the leap takes place, that two-hander appearing. "A good blade. You shall be a worthy opponent." Gleefully the warrior gives pursuit matching that fifteen foot leap to slice wide in an arc that screams through the air, shaving the top portion of a telephone pool off causing it to tumble down with a clipping of wires and the weighing of a tree, also sparks and a car being smashed by the freed wood. Destructive and uncaring. He's one of those single-minded warrior sorts Fenris is probably all too familiar with. "Announce yourself! Where do you hail from!?"

"Scrub?" Fenris' blade remains in a one handed high guard as he twirls the rod at his side, winds gusting about him in response. "No Sirrah, or knave or even Draugr? No comparing me to Grendel? Odd idiom you have for one with the scent of such old power hanging about you."

When the young man leaps, this time Fenris brings his blade around to meet the spear haft and pushes off once more, sliding back in perfect balance another ten feet or so and narrowing his eyes. "I am a very old, very civil monster. Most of the time. And I hail from here. These are my hunting grounds. And you are poaching." The blade shifts to a side guard and his stance becomes aggressive. He seems ready to begin this in earnest with… whomever this is.

"Grendal… Draugr… familiar words." The Fian snarls as he misses the spear swipe and it's turned off the sword, that free arm manages to coil around the shorter blade across his lower back and bring it out, masterfully executing a parry and riposte while manuevering the spear across his shoulders. Very uncommon a man can handle spear and sword at the same time. Diarmuid is one of the greatest in history well, some versions of it at least.

"You're no Fomor, no Sidhe… a witch? No. You feel of fur and snow and black blood." A twist of his features in to a smirk and that spear's buttend whips around from his shoulders in a lashing strike toward's Fenris head. "Your hunting grounds? Not so. This… turf?" He word hunts, "This is my /jam/ now." More mixtures of new age words, words that kids and television spout out. The Learning Box! A wonderful thing. He's learned never to chase a Roadrunner this is for certain.

"I am Diarmuid Ua Diubhne the Hawk of Ess Ruadh, bravest spear of the Fianna, son of Aengus Od and Champion of the fair and beloved of all women." Sure. Why not.






The clang and clash of weapons continue amidst car alarms, each strike of weapons could almost create shock waves of force from the blows as the two meet out their attacks on one another.

Fenris ducks the blow for his head. Barely. The limits of his abilities while maintaining his illusion of normality simply aren't going to be enough. Likely, clinging to his disguise will get him skewered. So he abandons it. As he draws on his power to move faster, swing harder, he grows in size, gaining fur and fangs and claws.

He still fences like a champion of old though. Strike left, parry the spear haft, knock aside the short blade with his rod. Spin back, thrust. Blade turned aside by the Fian's blade. The strike becomes a defense as he catches the spear with his crossbar and shoves it aside. In a moment he breaks free, leaps ten feet into the air, pushes off a storefront wall and whips his rod down at Diarmuid. A focused gust of wind gets up to hurricane speeds and hammers down at the man.

"Ugh. Fomor? Sidhe? Gods and jotun, you're one of the Tuatha, aren't you? The children of Danu."

"What the Fizz?" More of that odd gibberish and Diarmuid watches the transformation, no fear however only excitement. He's from a people who thrived on combat and challenge.

"Ah, I forced your hand. I did have the upper." The warrior boasts, loudly as it seems to be his normal volume.

Following the leap Diarmuid is caught off guard by the gust of wind that lifts his feet up and launches him backwards in to the side of a parked garbage truck. It breaks his toss and causes the vehicle to actually skitter across the cement.

"I am kin. Jotun? Makes you of Asgard's ilk?" A grunt escapes the Fian and he's peeling himself free of the junk hauler's side-plating. "Many battles we've waged against and with one another, I do not know your face." A car just launched itself at Fenris. Luckily no person was in it but it's one of those nice new Dodge Challengers.

The car clips him as he dodges knocking him down and sending him sliding across the pavement into another car about twenty feet away. The Old Wolf is up in an instant though. His rod snapps out and picks up a selection of glass bottles and coins from the gutters. Then hurls them at Dairmuid at hurricane force as he leaps - literally - back into the fray, swinging his blade in a glittering arc.

"Ugh. Formerly, yes. You folks were right asses as I recall. Never saw much of you myself." Tough though. Very tough. Which is enough for Fenris to respect the brash young man, even if he does wish he came with a volume control.

"Might wanna keep the collateral damage down though. Pitchforks and torches have grown rather more advanced since our kind last danced this dance."

"Truth, the last I battled a over sized sea slug many men in tight blue outfits decided they wished to… shoot me. A lot." The pain is memorable, it wasn't so much each shot so much as the continuous barrage.

A twist out to the side in a lunging step actually has Diarmuid making a huge distance break from himself and Fenris, one that has the pelting of objects and more gale winds cutting free of him. He took some of it still, his hair looks even more wild than normal as a result. Who needs hair gel.
"You speak too civil for a beast of which you smell, tell me your story warrior?" A spear launch almost follows and Diarmuid drops his arm, letting the weapon slacken. Collateral damage… a word even the idiot Jake has used. "Perhaps this test of our might will have to wait." He admits upon seeing a woman across the way standing on her door front with a baby swaddled in her arms, looking on at them fearfully from underneath her porchlight. "Lest we get carried away and destroy this fair community." Hah, New York fair.

"I lose myself to the joy of combat is all… you must understand it is the music that pulls my heart strings." That and apparently seeing infants squalling.

Fenris warily lowers his blade and rod as Diarmiud relaxes. "Fair community?" He needs his eyes checked. Well, whatever works.

"You sound rather like my family." That's… not a compliment.

"I am the Old Wolf. He who blots out the sun. In my time there have been tales told of the havoc I would wreak. The ceaseless winter. The death of gods. The end of all things."

He pauses and sighs. "I dislike those stories, and the enforced expectation I would follow them."

Diarmuid tips his chin up staring at Fenris at length from above his own cheekbones. It's a very haughty yet discerning look, "Then you will be a good one to have around. It sounds as though you will make this world a more adventurous one some day." The spear is spun around, whipped about and the butt slammed in to the ground with a thunderous crack. The sword slid in to it's sheath across the small of his back. "Old Wolf, I am the Killing Hawk. Well met. We have crossed blades and in this through this I deem you worthy of comradeship. I find myself low on companions in this realm and… " A look up towards the heavens and Diarmuid goes silent, "I find it disquieting." Aw, the little Celt is lonely! "I expect only truth strength in arms, conviction in word and a good laugh." A grin, a large handsome grin that explains why it's said women once loved this young man like he was an Adonis. A sort of innocence hovers about him, genuine, forthright that is just untarnished. Despite the fact that hes a blood thirsty, slaughterhouse whose cut off probably over a thousand heads.

"Well met. Your strength does you credit. As does your willingness to put the blade down. My own family is rarely so discerning." Fen slides his rod away and his blade shrinks back into a necklace which he then replaces on his neck.

"You miss the companionship of your Kin?" Fenris is motioning now that they get off the street. "In truth I came here to get away from mine. I'm… less than fond of them." Any of them. This guy reminds him of Thor but he's willing to let that pass for now. After all, this guy didn't tie him up in a cave.

"At times, yes. Though I have learned none will betray you like kin." Diarmuid grins again, the frenzied gleam in his eyes has died down to a point of dullness that has his eyes a golden color. The spear just being leaned upon.

"And you, yours Destroyer Wolf." Diarmuid looks sidelong at that one. It's obvious he pays some attention here and there. "I was embraced by Death unfairly and my time on this world is limited at best. I take of it what I can when I can. This cross of blades with you was invigorating."

That draws a little chuckle from the god-wolf. "Just in a rental, are we? I'm glad to have been of some service then." Oh those poor cars. Hopefully they were insured. Not that Fenris is overly concerned about such things. It's just time to get away before someone shows up and objects. "Will your mortal shell be confused about this later?"

"He's a slop." The Child of Danu responds. "I care little for what he will recall." Diarmuid's eyes drift across the road towards a man who is on the front small bit of lawn he had crying at the heavens about his tossed car. A material possession? Diarmuid feels nothing about that. Maybe if it was a good sword or shield…
What is a rental?" Sirens in the distance have him craning his head again in a very avian like fashion and he is then leaping, a bound that takes him half way up a building and then to the top. "Come, Old Wolf. Let us depart this arena and find supper. I know not when I'll have to slumber again." Whenever Kincaid awakens and manages to force Diarmuid away again. Never fun. The lands beyond are empty and without… well… life.

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