Snow Covered Horizons Chapter 1: The World of Gallal, an aliens/predator fanfic

Snow Covered Horizons

By, King Of Jellybean Land

Chapter One

"The World of Gallal"

Two cannibals were eating a clown.

And one cannibal says to the other.

"Does this taste funny to you?"

-Fallout 3-

Jol La'Karis, heir to the western throne, was not having a good day.

If naught but for the finely veiled scowl pinching his mouth into a thin line of discontent and tensed frame, the youth might have appeared hurried. However, he rushed for no one.

Striding down soaring corridors with great windows lining their walls, allowing the dying radiance of the falling sun to bleed its scarlet rays in for illumination, he continued his chosen path in a tight, but measured pace. Purposely ignoring the wonderful scenery of endless plains held in the bosom of the fading day, and altogether dismissing the beautiful oncoming mid-season evening, tainted with the faint breath of chill smelling of fallen leaves, he remained in his self-imposed silence, suffering the occupation of blistering thoughts.

How dare his father make a decision without his consent, especially one concerning a selection for a guardian! It was an insult, plain and simple. Oh, and he held every intention of correcting it, not to mention the one who made the unwanted decision.

Jol, having reached the end of his route, now stood before massive twin doors. Imported as a gift out of the Eastern Kingdom, and made from a Royal Ivory Tree, he paid no attention to the awe-inspiring architect, instead preferring to inhale a deep breath before nodding to the guards standing at attention on either side. Like puppets on strings, they immediately obeyed.

The two armored warriors seized the ornate, uniner-steel knockers, and pulled, slowly. Impatient, he did not even wait until the crack between the towering doorframes was wide enough. Being slender did possess advantages. Angling to the side, he slipped past, feeling only the barest of contact with the gleaming white wood on his back and chest.

"Father, I demand-"

His once so determined steps faltered, and then came to a sharp halt.

Before him, he beheld a sight that made him want to retreat right back to the safety of his personal chambers. His father, in all his glory, standing proudly next to his magnificent, black stiein wooden desk, was speaking to a creature, which by all means made his height of six five appear painfully inadequate for such a great noble. With Jol's rather sudden entrance and interruption, the uninvited weight of their combined gazes fell on him.

He would not fidget. Under no circumstantial ideal would he lower himself to fidgeting…

Oh, Dear Dragons below, what was the point of lying to one's self? He sorely wanted to wiggle and writhe just like a pathetic worm under those intense stares. In fact, his spine was steadily liquefying, and his feet, against the reigns of his will, began to shift the burden that was his pride from foot to foot.

"Father, I must speak with you now. P-please?"

Disgusted with how his voice had cracked, he flogged his inner self as a whip master does with a filth ridden, unworthy slave. Where had his bravado fled? What had happened to the speech he had planned to use to punish his father?

The anger Jol had managed to rekindle to life flickered briefly, guttered, and ultimately died when he was so foolish as to cast a glare toward the alien.

Ah, so that is where it went…

Garx'Thual was a simple creature who only played by one set of rules.

His.

Any other Yautja that dared to try to dispute this with him rapidly experienced their notions being set straight, along with thrusting them on their merry way with broken limbs, crippling injuries, and the sound of his harsh laughter ringing in their ears.

When the call had come, requesting for his presence, the first reaction to heat his blood had been one of blind rage. After all, not just anyone, even if the Ooman had been the Yautjan equivalent of an Elder, could expect such a hot-blooded male actually to stoop down to the lowly level of playing a bodyguard.

Several pieces of smashed furniture later, he grudgingly had to admit to a tiny level of admiration. It did take a supreme amount of courage actually to contact someone of his kind, although there was a treaty, however uneasy it might be, between the two races standing for several eras now.

Then he had noticed the amount of funds the Ooman was offering and quickly reconsidered his options.

Garx'Thual, while a Hunter born and bred, wasn't nonetheless immune to the demands of society. Life was costly, and he did need the occasional credits to purchase and repair armor, an expense that was somewhat defrayed by his skillful knowledge of repairing it, not to mention obtaining the materials needed to run his ship, and so on.

As such, he had created a highly successful living as a mercenary, doing the unsavory work that others of his species found underneath themselves. He really didn't care as it meant less competition from others vying for the same money.

Problem was good jobs were arriving with far less frequency and with increasingly longer intervals of time in between. That is until this one had popped up unexpectedly, and what a generous amount of money it was. Far more than enough for him to live comfortably for a long time thanks to his frugal habits. From there, it had been an easy thing to quash his warrior pride, even though it had been spewing obscenities at him for even thinking to stand in the same room as a pathetic Ooman, and accept the job.

Within five moon cycles, he was standing in the study of the Ooman named Karshal, listening to him prattle tirelessly on about how grateful he was that Garx'Thual had taken upon the responsibility of watching over his one and only heir to the throne.

If not for his many years of discipline and the information that his reputation would change to that of a Bad Blood if he broke the treaty by intentionally harming an Ooman, the Yautja Hunter would have backhanded the flabby wretch straight through the window. Ahh, its dying screams would have been music to his ears, but the prospect of losing all that income stayed his hand far better than the threat of some wrathful Arbitrator looming over him and demanding his head.

The sound of footsteps, too soft for anyone without Yautjan senses to hear, had the mercenary tilting his head, ornament encrusted dreadlocks clinking against each other softly. Having already tuned out Karshal's incessant babbling, Garx'Thual focused more fully on the light steps. With his sharp mind already sorting through the tidbits he could discern just by listening to the footfall of what was undoubtedly another Ooman, he pieced together what sensory told him.

Male, because of the way his feet treaded on the ground, possibly agitated since the tempo was mildly increased and heavier than how a relaxed Ooman would walk. As whomever the owner of the sounds neared, his direction was definitely heading for the study.

The Yautja straightened lazily, well-defined muscles rippling underneath his inky black skin. Turning to the doors of the study and consequently causing the still blathering king to sputter to a stop, as he had finally realized the loss of interest from the Hunter summoned, Garx'Thual waited with seemingly endless patience as the den's entrance opened.

To his concealed surprise though, a slim figure darted into the room before the heavy barricades had parted no more than a foot, only to come to an abrupt halt. Seemingly disregarding the Yautja male who stood in full view right smack dab in the middle of the room, something that made the Hunter's pride bristle, the Ooman male stomped forward, his voice rising in a clearly displeased manner. "Father, I demand-"

Suddenly his voice cut off and he faltered to a halt as at last, his brain caught onto the fact that the den did not contain only his father, but also the presence of a very large and very dangerous visitor.

A small section of Garx'Thual's mind trilled in pleasure as the Ooman male fidgeted, the motions slight as they were. His inner delight only swelled as the youth made another effort to regain his dignity with the imposing of another demand upon his sire, but with the uttering of his last word, his voice had wavered, again betraying a hidden reserve of nervousness.

Relishing the discomfort that he had so obviously caused, he did not fail to miss the sharp glare that the petulant insect foolishly shot in his direction. Immediately a soft, yet dark snarl trickled from within the depths of his bull like chest, bouncing off the polished walls of the study, even as he narrowed his eyes and dipped his head in a threatening posture.

No mere pup was going to get away with looking at him with such disrespect, not even if it was the High Arbitrator's offspring himself!

-Disclaimer-

King of Jellybean Land does not own Predator

-Claimer-