The Jotun pauses, frowning. He closes his eyes, and clasps a Medallion that hangs heavy around his neck. It is of beaten gold, and bears the image of a Dragon's face, roaring- and even as he grasps it, it shimmers- and flows in to his hand- lines of gold flowing through the cracks in his gauntlets. They burn through his body- and he flares for a brief moment with magic... and a low rumble starts in his throat.<br/><br/>He resumes his movement- senses attuned after his small Prayer, and a smile graces his blackened, withered face. He hums a deep, low tone- and it seems to preclude his Arrival. A rumbling of the earth- as he gather's energy to him. He senses the demon, he sense the fevered combat against it- and he smiles. He see's an opportunity to ingratiate himself- and likely to strong warriors. For who but the strong would battle a Demon? Yes- he will see what there is to see.<br/><br/>He strides the streets, as a faint rumbling can be felt at the site of the battle. Pebbles begin to scatter and roll- and then it stops... as a figure round's the corner. He is huge- yet cloaked and hooded. He leans on a Mammoth's leg bone carved with intricate runes and patterns- a massive and beautiful example of detail Scrimshaw, with crystaline growths snaking through the carved lines on it. A beard blows at the side's of his face out of the shadows cast by his hood as he walks past the corner of a Warehouse- and find's hellfire being spewed for the building and him.<br/><br/>A Booming Voice intones a series of incomprehensible words- and faint light of indeterminate color seems to ripple beneath his robes- as the gold erupts from a hand that throws itself forwards- and the Molten metal seems somehow grown and swelled. It takes the image of a roaring dragon of glorious and terrible aspect- the miniature shape, at least. It meet's the wave of hellfire, and seems to twist in the air before fading, taking the hellish flames with it. The Purple glow that seems to pour from his cracked skin beneath his hood is worrying- but it is soon replaced by a burning red, as he ignites an orb of flame that seems to pour itself from his stave's cracks. "I /knew/ I felt a demon.." A deep yet rasping voice intones- and the face illuminated by the burning red light smiles grimly. Blackened skin has a horrid cast in the light of red- but he seems happy. "Mayhaps you could use some aid, casting it out." He says flatly- as he let's the blast fly, hoping to catch the hound fully with a burst of molten flame...