Pool_2

was to no avail as the carpenter methodically delivered his axe through successively higher sections of anatomy. A last plea, "I have.." stilled to a swipe through his teeth exiting the back of his head. This was no longer a carpenter of wood. History had vented the Hound of Ulster. Massive ropes of pulsing veins stood off his temples and proceeded as a tangle of vines down his neck to dive to then from his straining biceps to his forearms and on down writhing on the backs of his vibrating clenched hands. In an appalling wail that could melt armor, "YOU HAVE MY SISTER !" Then that scream. A gash ripped through the fabric of reality into a vile nether world releasing an explosion of shrieking agony of damnation from hell itself. In this flood of sound doom, his violent red hair was straining on end, lapping like flame at the darkness above. Each wisp of red emanated lightening. Electric rage buzzed from a brow crested in individual droplets of blood. One eye rattled wildly in its socket, as the other clenched hardfistedly, turned inward to behold his own fury. Teeth, all of them fully exposed gnashing on phantoms. Vibrating tongue spewing a spittle of molten rock as an erupting war tremor that was paralysing. A primal Galeage scream was all it was and that was plenty, a word that meant justice yet could only mean, in these tones, death. Two jailers died during in the span of terror of his tremor. "There is no raven at MY throat!" he quaked, slaughtering any antagonist before him. And then, when the silence came, when even the dripping of gore was no longer heard, "Find the poet. Give him this. Let him record history in the blood of justice!" Thus that sticky axe dripping ooze, was passed. Gavin McGuinness, found in a heap in a stone cell, was unable to stand fully erect