An interesting ritual. Though nothing less could be expect from a woman who seemed to carry a limitless arsenal of knives. Where she manages to keep them all comfortably eluded Gregory as she cut herself with the tip. He watched with lidless eyes as metal streaked itself to soft skin, calling blood forth from the deepest recesses. Thin skin of easy cuts, letting the red bleed out. Then she offered Gregory the handle, to which he took the time to examine the handicraft of perhaps another smith. The weight was fine, but slightly off-center, the balance favouring lower handle than the blade. The tip was beveled, sharp and angular, slightly nicked as it ran down towards the handle. A knife used often and had some wear certainly as the gargoyle paused to consider how many different bloods this blade has tasted. To which he returned his attention to Warlord Keelie after a rather unsubtle judgment of the knife. It may not be uncommon to see a smith handle a weapon without seeing the quality of the work. Although he kept these thoughts to himself.

The knife however would definitely need to be sharpened at the shop, as he put the tip to the test against his own hide. Gargoyle hide, though appeared as stone, was more of a hide of an elephant or rhino. There were some which held roughened thick skin, usually belonging to the darker coloured Gargoyles, others like Gregory had smoother skins which were reminiscent of polished stone. Regardless it would be slightly more difficult to liberate blood using the blade as it cut against the flesh, not as quick a cut as Keelie's skin, but neither like drawing blood from stone. And for this reason did the Gargoyle allow his blood to pool within the palm of his right hand, flowing from his forearm weakly as it painted white roses red, before dripping off his claws to the floor. And with this bloody claw did he exchange the shake. By virtue of blood the deal was done.


[i][b][Color=4863A0]"Horn."[/color][/b][/i]Gregory remarked. Well, rather he made some indication of his displeasure of having to correct the warlord between a grunt and growl. He had remained silent on the issue for quite some time now, however if they were to become business partners she would at least need to learn his name. Whitehorn, not Whitetail. Whitetail was a type of deer. No Gargoyle worth his wings would care to be called Whitetail, and those within the Whitetail family stuck to the mountain caverns to avoid the ridicule when their species learned of what those below call deer. At which the matter became a trivial affair once the tattoos around her moved. 

While normally the revelation that the rumors of magic returning would most likely shock and amaze the normal Ebonfortian. If the ability to lay ways to an entire Squadron of Ebons and their horses was impressive to Gregory, his facial expressions remained as stoic as ever. Although Gregory was never one show much interest in magic, the ability to call forth a rather merciless ally was intriguing. To which his reply was a turning of his gaze towards the slaughter occurring a few hundred feet away. His new partner was ruthless, admittedly, but there was something captivating in watching the woman work her power stride through the still warm bodies of the fallen. Blood bathed her freely, as she teased one of the entrapped Ebons with his life. Enchanting to watch a woman who flaunts it: the refined savagery that would bite your lips off and kiss them.

And back to business. As Gregory gave the bloodlusted warlord a deep nod and walked towards the body of the unconscious Ebonknight. A brief nod and glance to his own Mother was all he gave her as he tore a strip of cloth from the ebon's clothing to wrap around his knife cut and feign a wound. She would not mind, at least he thought as a blacksmith's apron was far harder to tear than simple weave. Lifting her limp body up was the easy part, though she had some weight, Gregory was more than capable of easily handling her in his arms. A bridal carry, as awkward as it may be, but over the shoulder would restrict his flight abilities. And certainly not to crush her pelvis should he choose to wrap her around his muscular tail. [i][b][Color=4863A0]"Be Still."[/color][/b][/i]

With the traditional parting of the Gargoyles, which could be analogous to 'be at peace' or 'may all be well.' The White Gargoyle unfolded his great wings, to stroke down the sanguine air and take to the skies above. The Ebon may need some medical assistance, should she have injuries, and certain he would need to have his injuries attended to as well. While he could fly both of them back to Green Fall, he would rather not have to carry an unconscious Ebonknight all the way back home. Ruby Banks would be a good place to catch some breath, and certainly there would be a healer there. Right?