04-14-2015, 10:53 AM
Armande gazed at her for a long moment, the events of the now running parallel to the meeting he had with Seth Marx months ago. A meeting that had proven meaningless almost from the start. Disgust welled up in his throat. There were times when he almost thought the American branch of the Atharim to be unsalvagable, the leaven of overweening arrogance and pride having spoiled the whole lump long ago. The scarred flesh of Rune Marx all that remained of the single botched attempt on a reborn god. Not the record of a man who considered himself the greatest Atharim hunter on either side of the Atlantic.
And here was another American, another here only for the masturbatory thrill of the hunt. Contempt filled his heart, though he showed none of it. So it would begin again. The patient exploration, a surgeon carefully parting layer after layer until the truth lay exposed. Malignance? Or purpose far beyond ones own pathetic desires.
He needed weapons. He was forging them, one at a time. Was the metal itself good or bad? Or was it the place of forging, of tempering?
At long last he spoke. To her credit, she had said nothing during his silence, had not tried to draw attention, nor had she squirmed under his weighty stare. She would get this much, then. Not a direct challenge, to be answered with bluster and brag. No, he wanted truth. It was time to come to the root of things. His voice was quite, his gaze heavy. "Why, Ms. Cross, do YOU wish to hunt the gods?"
And here was another American, another here only for the masturbatory thrill of the hunt. Contempt filled his heart, though he showed none of it. So it would begin again. The patient exploration, a surgeon carefully parting layer after layer until the truth lay exposed. Malignance? Or purpose far beyond ones own pathetic desires.
He needed weapons. He was forging them, one at a time. Was the metal itself good or bad? Or was it the place of forging, of tempering?
At long last he spoke. To her credit, she had said nothing during his silence, had not tried to draw attention, nor had she squirmed under his weighty stare. She would get this much, then. Not a direct challenge, to be answered with bluster and brag. No, he wanted truth. It was time to come to the root of things. His voice was quite, his gaze heavy. "Why, Ms. Cross, do YOU wish to hunt the gods?"