Twin Burning Souls (CJ+Willow as Freeja+Dogath)

Dogath shivered in what he considered to be a cold day, despite the sun being high in the sky. Though the warm rays beat down upon him, it was not enough to banish the cold that still lingered in his bones. The blizzard of death that had swept across Hyrule had nearly claimed another victim, but the hardy Subrosian had refused to die. Burrowing deep into the ground, his innate self-defense mechanisms kicked in, putting his body into a deep stasis. The heat of his limbs and body withdrew into his core, like a small star beating in the center of his chest. There he had rested, dreaming, waiting for the snows to melt, for the light of the sun returned.

When next he emerged from the bowels of the earth, he found the world changed, ravaged by the deep, biting cold. Death was around him, deaths from the futile war between mortals and nature. No. It was a massacre. Dogath had thought at the time, wandering, seeing devastated village after village. Though Dogath had little use for the weak surface-dwellers, he couldn't help but pity them. After all, dying to the cold was his worst nightmare; it was a cruel death, honorless and with little worth. To die anything but a warrior's death would be a disgrace, and Dogath held the other races to this standard.

But Dogath also knew the truth behind the storms. He had heard that dark voice in his dreams, as the snows raged on above him. It had haunted him, telling tales of its black magics, the terrible sacrifices that had brought this disgraceful death upon Hyrule. Dogath spat on the ground; only one force was capable of such blasphemy, such cowardice. Ganon. As it were, being in this foul mood, Dogath's thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like gleeful "Oinks", if one could call it that. Perfect. What better targets for Dogath to take his frustrations out upon?

Grasping a cannonball in one hand, then swiftly stuffing it into the front of his cannon, Dogath went in search for his quarry. It was not long before he found them; and fortunate it was that he did! Surrounding a Hylian woman, and what appeared to be her pets, was a fairly large group of Moblins. "It'll do..." Dogath muttered to himself. Not enough to completely satisfy him, but enough to sate his hunger... for now. Muttering a cantrip under his breath, summoning his Iron Boots, he pulled upon the cord of his cannon and was quickly rewarded with the sound of thunder and the smell of brimstone. A single Moblin was reduced to a bloody pulp, as if lightning had struck, leaving its crumpled body dead upon the ground; the others, stood in stunned silence, before look at their assailant.

Dogath raised his hand in a mock salute, eyes blazing as he laughed in their faces. Egged on by his mockery, the Moblins snorted angrily, deciding that, for now, this new intruder was a greater threat than the Hylian woman. "If only you'd brought more!" Dogath cackled out, dispelling his Iron Boots with a motion, readying himself for their inevitable charge.

Had the Moblins been able to see Dogath's face, they would have fled on the spot. Behind the deep shadows of his cloak, beyond the crimson scarf that obscured the lower portions of his face, was a malicious grin, one of pure ecstasy. Laughing tremulously, Dogath stepped forward with his cannon, shrugging its sling from his shoulder. His eyes blazed red with fury and passion, held in equilibrium between pure rage and pure joy. This would be fun.

If they had paused for a moment, they may have realized the infutility of their actions. Instead, they only saw a short, squat man, who was dwarfed by their own statures. What they failed to realize was the immense strength possessed by what appeared to be either a midget Hylian, or a Kokiri wrapped in a dense cloak. He hefted a cannon as if it were nothing more than an oversized mace, firing it as though no explosion had been involved. No, they saw only a single, short man, hopelessly outnumbered, hopelessly outgunned. But Dogath had been right. There was not nearly enough of them to consider this an even fight.

As the first Moblin, wielding a spear, charged him, Dogath met the boar-man's charge head on. It was too late before the Moblin realized that the man no longer had the cannon strapped to his shoulder, that he was holding the massive weapon by sheer strength alone. Its thoughts were quelled as the now overgrown club crashed down from above, snapping his spear, then arm, then body as if they were mere twigs. Staggering backwards, feeling at his head for a moment, the Moblin slumped to the ground dead. Continuing with his forward momentum, Dogath met his next adversary, twirling to his left.

The Subrosian made a full circle, swinging his makeshift weapon brutally at the side of a Moblin who held a broadsword. The Moblin had been following his companion too closely; already he was within the small man's reach, such was the length of his weapon. It saw in the Subrosian's white eyes that death had come, death on steel wings. Bringing its broadsword to its side, grasping to it with both hands for dear life, the Moblin prepared to die. Yet, despite all assurance that its death would come, nothing happened, as if time had frozen. Then, a sickening feeling, as feeling returned to its side, as its body lifted from the ground and was tossed into the air as if it were a ragdoll.

So distracted was Dogath, in his bloodsport, that he never noticed the magic ball of flamed coming ever closer, searing the air with its swift passage. He saw only that he was now surrounded by Moblins--or should he say, that they were surrounded? The orange-red ball made its way into the crowd, and it was only by the time that it had reached the center, next to Dogath, that he realized its presence. Almost too late, Dogath raised his cannon between himself and the ball vertically out of instinct. Shortly following its arrival, a powerful explosion of force and heat emanated out from the ball as it dispersed, sending the Moblins around him staggering backwards. Feeling the beginnings of its tremor, he summoned his Iron Boots, stoically resisting the blast.

Taking the moment to take advantage of the momentary stunning of the Moblin's surrounding him, Dogath pressed forward once again, only pushed further into his battle rage by the explosion and its forthcoming heat, the flames only fanning his own higher. Desummoning his boots with a flicker of a thought, then delivering a swift kick towards a Moblin's chest, Dogath quickly summoned them for a second time. He was rewarded by the sound and feel of cracking ribs and collapsing flesh, a deep Whoosh! exploding from the pig's snout. His boots disappearing again, he exited the circle of Moblins, which now had a gaping hole.

One Moblin reduced to nothing more than a bloody pulp, it's body smelling of sulfur and charcoal. Another one, head bashed in, brain matter leaking into the hungry soil. One flung into the air, sword bent and nigh unusable, and the last with broken ribs, and likely crushed lungs. Dogath was a brutal and efficient fighter; despite his lack of speed, he overcame his opponents with both his formidable strength and his mind. Using the momentum provided by the cannon he held, combined with its range, Dogath was able to compete in speed with the more mobile Moblins. Still, there remained at least seven around him by his last count. If they came for him all at once, even the Subrosian wasn't sure he could defeat them all.

He noted from his periphery that the Hylian woman seemed to be more than able at taking care of herself. Certainly moreso than what he had seen from others of the soft race. He was glad to see her take down another adversary, not because there was one less for him to handle, but because it was a fine display or the Hylian's strength. He grunted approvingly, though he did not lose track of the now wary Moblins who were attempted to form a circle around him again. He would not allow that.

Turning about in a full circle, arms flexing as they clutched to the cannon, Dogath suddenly let go of his only apparent weapon. The steel barrel flew outwards, spinning dangerously as it soared towards a pair of unfortunates. Sputtering in alarm, and at a loss for a moment as to what to do, the two were nearly crushed beneath it. As it were, one leaped forward, the other jumping hastily to the side. The latter was not fast enough, though, the metal projectile clipping its arm, dislocating its elbow with a sickening noise. The other rolled against the ground, its body flipping over as it attempted to recover. But Dogath was already there, a bomb hissing where he had just been standing.

A metal orb crashed into the Moblin's face as it tried to raise its guard far too late, a cannonball held in the Subrosian's left hand. Stars swam in its vision as it sank to the ground, unconscious. Continuing to move forward, Dogath passed the metal ball to his right hand, grabbed another into his left. Though the Moblin whose arm had been dislocated was grunting with pain, it did not take its eyes off of Dogath. Admirable. Dogath thought for a moment, the thought passing quickly. With the loss of its right arm, it no longer held its sword, the only remaining weapon held in its good hand. Grasping the dagger tightly, the Moblin ran to meet the Subrosian's charge.

Despite the power exuded by the Subrosian, even the Moblin noticed that he moved slowly, more like a clambering titan than a small, squat man. With a step forward, the Moblin, mustering a surprising amount of speed and finesse, lunged with its dagger, hoping to plunge it deep into the Subrosian's heart. Dogath, however, had other plans. Well aware of his own flaws, he had long ago found a way around the slowness of his movement. With an efficiency of movement born only from repeated training, the Subrosian counterlunged with his own left arm at the last second.

The dagger pierced his cloak as his body twisted, but rebounded against the hardened leather of his armor, glancing off his chest. His left hand connected with the Moblin's windpipe, the Moblin's right arm unable to defend him in his time of need. Dropping its dagger, and clutching at its neck, the Moblin fell to his knees with blood dribbling from its mouth. The pig-man's face contorted into a mask of death as foam formed at its mouth, and its eyes rolled into the back of its head. Five more.

Throwing the cannonballs in his hands out, more as a distraction than anything, Dogath ducked low, grabbing the hilt of the dropped sword of the now deceased Moblin. The two Moblins whom Dogath had thrown his makeshift weapons at backed away instinctively, their third companion pressing on, not realizing that he now faced Dogath alone. Wielding a crude axe, the Moblin meant to overpower Dogath, and although the Subrosian was strong, the Moblin could not imagine that it was stronger than he. That would prove to be a deadly mistake.

Standing quickly, grabbing the handle of the blade with both hands, Dogath readied himself for his next opponent. The Subrosian's stance was a strange one, with the point dipped low into the ground just behind him. His knees were bent, as if he were a wolf ready to pounce. As the Moblin began to approach, the Subrosian took a steady step forward, then began to run, breaking into a full on sprint towards his enemy. Not to be daunted by the smaller man, the Moblin, who had locked eyes with Dogath, pressed forward, further outpacing its companions. Yet, what was this strange, unsettling feeling?

Dogath felt each stone, each blade of grass, as the tip of his blade dragged through the ground. But it seemed to be slowing him down, when he was already slow to begin with. The two neared each other, but it seemed as if an eternity might pass before the two met. But, suddenly, Dogath's blade was there, swinging at the pig man's side in the span of a moment. Using the ground as a "sheath" for the blade, he removed his blade's tip from the ground, his blade rapidly accelerated due to the lack of an opposing force. Cleaving through the air with incredible speed, it was all the Moblin could do to put its own weapon up to try to block the sword. But its strength would not be enough. As Dogath's sword cleaved first through a wooden handle, then into skin, then muscle, then bone, the Moblin could only stare in disbelief at the crimson now flowing from him. Then, darkness.

Yanking his blade free, kicking the bloody corpse from his weapon, Dogath went to work against the last of the two Moblins, who were now seriously rethinking their situation. It was now two against four, and as the short man had said; If only they'd brought more!

As the Moblins peeled away from him, and attacked the Hylian woman, Dogath decided perhaps it was time for him to play the role of an audience member, rather than take an active role. After all, he still had to decide if the Hylian woman was worth saving, and not someone he'd have to kill himself once the battle was over. He nodded sagely as the woman called upon fire magic to combat her foes, approving if only slightly. Her wolf companions, too, seemed to be well trained, and acted as an asset in her battle, rather than hindering her. Still, he wanted to witness first hand the explosion he had felt, the heat of the flames that had licked at his arms so tantalizing.

An orb of red and orange energy coalesced at her fingertips, and was then flung forward. So that's it! The color of the magic reflected in his eyes, mirroring the flames that danced in them. The sphere darted forth, positioning itself between the two Moblins, then promptly exploded. Even from where he stood, which was a considerable distance away, Dogath was able to feel the ripples of the shockwave, as well as the heat generated by the explosion. "Powerful magic indeed..." he chuckled to himself. He was in high humor, now. While perhaps he hadn't found his ultimate adversary, he may have, at least, found someone worth knowing. Perhaps even to call an ally. He grinned at the proposition, though it was a secret one, shrouded as his face was.

What first began as a slight chuckle quickly turned into a deep, rolling laughter, that sounded as if thunder had come down from the heavens to walk among them. Looking at the two wolves, and the Hylian woman, Dagoth couldn't help but laugh, completely unable to contain himself. Shaking his head as he grabbed his cannon and slung it over his shoulder, he looked at his newfound allies and smiled, though they could not see it. "Well fought, Hylian! It has been long since last I met one as strong as yourself. And your pets--goddesses, how glorious they seemed!" Dogath exclaimed, repressing further chuckles that threatened to bubble over into full blown laughs.

"Even now they seem ready to leap at your command, and tear my throat from my neck." He said, more amused than anything else. "Ah, but they mistake me; allow me first to introduce myself as a token of good will. My name is Dogath Hellkite," he bowed with a flourish, "and I am a Subrosian, if you are aware of what we are. In any case, I am no threat to you... unless you wish it to be so, so your pets may rest easy." Dogath finished, brushing off his robes, worrying at a small bloodstain on his white cloak. Grunting something about cleaning it later, the short man began to rummage through the bodies of the fallen Moblins. Snorting in disgust at most of the poorly made weapons, Dogath was greatly disappointed to find nothing of particular use to himself.

"Hm. Barely so, anyways. But why don't we see what we can learn from him anyways? I'm particularly interested in why such a patrol was found up here in the north." Dogath said, his voice bringing to mind the image of a man raising an eyebrow. Walking up to the still struggling pig-man, he silently removed the black dodongo-leather glove from his right hand. What was revealed was not what most would expect to see; rather than what most would consider skin and flesh, Dogath's hand instead appeared to be made of ash and fire, a dark black with burning cracks of red and orange seared across it. "Now then, Moblin," he spat out, "we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can tell us what you know and I'll give you an easy death, or I can make it significantly for difficult than it has to me. Which is it?"

"Go to hell, monster." The Moblin managed to croak out, sounding more pathetic than courageous. "Good. I wanted to do it the hard way." Dogath replied, the tone of his voice conveying his joy at the Moblin's reply. Reaching out with his hand, the heat it generated distorting the air surrounding in, he forcefully took hold of the Moblin's arm. The pig began to squeal in pain as the burning flesh of the Subrosian began to sear its skin. "Now then, you were saying?" Dogath gently asked. "Fuck you, bastard!" the Moblin said, a little more shakily this time. Shrugging, the Subrosian continued his "interrogation".

After killing the Moblin he was interrogating, who was probably better off dead anyways, he walked back over to Freeja. He raised an eyebrow, though she could not see it, at her rather apparent display of her dislike of his methods. Or, at least, she seemed a little green around the gills. Her wolves certainly didn't seem to approve, if the sounds they were making were any sign. "Ah. I apologize if I offended your sensibilities. Where I come from, if a man threatens your life or your kin, you have the right to defend them at any cost. It goes both ways. We show our enemies just as much pity as they'd afford us." Dogath explained, though he was slightly disappointed with her reaction. He couldn't say he was surprised, though, as most surfacers he'd met were... squeamish. He shook his head; it was a very alien concept, to show even a modicum of compassion to an enemy. For Dogath, the goal certainly justified the means.

"Anyways, it seems that this was just a patrol for a larger force nearby. Though he was nearly begging to tell me everything he knew, he was rather tight lipped about where, but I can't imagine they would have gone too far. But it seems that their goal is little more than to loot and raze the country side, harassing and killing villagers, if only to strike terror into this country's citizens." He spat upon the ground, a display of his unhappiness at this recent development. "There is no honor in killing those unable to defend themselves..." He muttered to himself, though it was perfectly audible. "I'm going to hunt them down. It is not right for those with strength to prey upon the weak. You are more than welcome to join me, as are your friends, though I haven't a whit as to where I should begin." He scratched at the back of his head, from the outside of his cloak, clearly stumped for a solution.