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[Old Blue Eyes]

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Alastor's joints were beginning to wear on him...coupled with his patience.

Two more massive oaktrunks exploded into splinters and sizzled against the waning, protective shield he had conjured about himself. Holding still on one knee, Alastor noted that his breathing was no longer rhythmic. It was labored. It had been nearly three hours since this carnage began. Most of his energy had been defensive in nature...something that went against the very discipline of what it was to be Atalan.

You kill your enemy, backhand his wife and if the child cries too hard, you take a head.

This mantra had to be modified when dealing with Asimov, however. He was the firstborn of the Atalan race; a cursed forsaken warbreed designed for killing. Nothing more, nothing less. Their paternal race considered them valuable pawns, and the Atalan had never forgiven them for such. Especially Asimov.

Alastor noted that the forearm supporting his weight from the ground was quivering slightly. Skipping breakfast because of the ale he had consumed the night before was haunting him. That cursed brew was the only thing those roundears were good for. Snapping his head up, he saw two large boulders flying towards him.

Enough of this rubbish.

Alastor arched his brows and clapped his hands together, sending out a shockwave that shattered the huge rocks into cinder. He grunted and spat to the ground, raising upright. Closing his eyes, he actively meditated to recharge for the next assault. Firstlord or not, Alastor was tired of playing a hare to the hound. His right ear snapped back sharply, just before the foot of a stranger fell to the soil behind him.

"Don't encourage him."

Alastor turned and saw the slender form of his Atalan compatriot leaning against one of the few remaining trees about him. Her name was Temperance for a reason. Alastor cautiously relaxed his rage as he addressed her. "He's at it again, and I'm really not in the mood for this today." Temperance returned a crooked smile that made her most popular among the few remaining Atalan males in the world. "He's not after you, Al. He's after something else entirely." After a brief pause, Alastor raised his arms impatiently. "Care to let me know what that might be, and why he is blowing up every object I happen to be standing near?" Temperance giggled to herself, and them looked at Alastor evenly as she replied matter-of-factly. "He is building."

Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, his hangover coming full circle. "Building what?" They both turned and saw a large swath of trees fall instantly in the distance.

"The pillars of an empire long overdue."
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>=E