POV: Leif Gormsson, the Clan Heir.
Date: Þórri 12th, 598 AD. (Alt: 24th January, 599 AD.) Location: Götaland (Ancient Sweden.)
'No breaks, it seems.' Leif stood straight beside his wife Sigrid, arms interlocked, both eyeing the crowd and the assailing God that did not FOLLOW on his promises.
"What would be a fitting punishment, father?" Leif asks Gorm through the device's communications so as not to appear too conspicuous in a group, his visage and appearance bringing unwanted attention on its own. "What I suggest may not work for Heath." . . .
"Too many of my ideas are easy or lenient, we must create a challenge for him to complete while also not being degrading." Gorm eyed downwards towards the table and its royal presence. "Yet I have no clue with his apparent growing power." Leif heard the comms crackle slightly with the addition of Sigrid into the communications. "I say we make him create a game without the use of magic once The Tournament is completed." She leans into her armour to make that clearer, which causes many of their eyes to shine in full focus.
"Which type of game?" Leif asks, voice dripping with enthusiasm. "Let us draw lots." As she stated this, she looked towards the first batch of people being drawn up from a name randomiser on the main screen beside them. They could use that!
"And. . . That is done! We have our 100 contestants split between the mennskr and deer, get ready. To. R U U M M B B L L E E~!" Heath had always wanted to do that since he first saw the WWE. They each clamour up to the machinery specified to their symbol, they place the flexible balaclava, affixing it and creating a proper breathable air-tight seal around the skin that is closest to the craniocervical junction, two tubes that import and export all nutrients, air and waste products fitted onto their mouth and nose with no wasted movement.
They trusted Heath fully, even if this device unnerved them slightly. Swift and decisive, their existence and cognisance have become fluid and are now ferried into the fully loaded 'scene' that was Heath's old kingdom he had built before arriving to this new realm.
But the scene was not the thriving civilisation that they had felt was dreamlike. No, it was abandoned, derelict. Many of the structures crumbling ruins of shattered glass and long-gone lives. The streets were empty except for the few piles of trash, Human (Villager?) Powered Vehicles and floating cars that are destitute and ransacked. The sky was dark, starless, the only light an enlarged orange moon that cast an eerie shadow upon the scene. 'The pumpkin-moon of Terraria was a good reference for this.' Heath internally pondered.
"You have made your world scarce?" Gorm looked towards the screen, alarmed. That moon appeared to bare a skinless smile of sharpened teeth. The paradisical views they had once pictured now nightmarish. "*H͟͜͞͡U͟͜͞͡R͟͜͞͡ɣ*" A voice like a villager's, warped and deepened.
A crossbow's arrow came, the light of a potion combo showing the silhouette of an armoured warrior in full chain and gambeson. The glowing greys and greens that streaked the air were recognised from Heath's show. "POISONED!" Arcangelo sweeped his legs down to then strike the earth with his hilt forming a shield, a wide arc blocks the single stray from ever reaching their destination, now redirected and embedded through a nearby glass pane. "The pillagers." Jorg manifests himself disdainfully, trained in full on how to use the weapon. He shoots.
*BANG* While more silent than regular conventional arms, it still alerts the raid of their presence. Thousands of arrowheads tinted with cursed alchemy point to their direct destination. "Oh crap!" Himlauf says as the volley gets launched towards them.
They form a testudo formation in time for the arrows to bounce upon the glowing face of the giant shield. *SHUNK SHUNK SHUNK-SHU-SH-SH-* Their gravity kept on forcing itself to stay upon the solid contouring, they lost their potential energy and gathered in small piles upon the indents, lying flat and relatively harmless to no longer be used by the enemies. The pillagers see the failure and one rings their bell horn, the sound that plagued Heath's ears now a new trigger for these dashing warriors.
*'The call for the ravager.'* Were all of their thoughts in unison before they heard the bellows of the beastly cavalry. Their silhouette a backdrop that cast themselves upon their souls. The eyes of the four-legged colossus cast enough light for them to see its horrific visage.
Long-dried blood upon the hardened skin like that of a rhinoceros, these monsters charged ahead with bolted leg-guards and reforged steel scale armour that covered their bodies. Like that of an elephant's Mahout, they readied their front and back-facing pillager turrets and trained them upon their enemies with explosive charge. Both figuratively. . . And literally. *S H H II- SHUNK* The powdered hollow bolts stuck through to the soil next to them. The nearest warriors recognised the sound of black powder burning from Heath's lessons.
"TAKE COVER!" The formation broke just as the deafening detonation destroyed the terrain over a multiple Model meters' range. The triggering of low-stability leading to a nearby building's shaking from its foundations and dropping rubble and shards anew.
The building was once an office just like any other, but now just another monument among countless structures within the background's mountain range and ocean that borders it. It came close to collapsing upon them with concrete flooring once held up with magic, now folding precariously with no source available. "We must get to safer grounds." Alǫf, the wife and experienced female tracker of Jorhunn, leads them with those of both her old team and the new towards a flat clearing, a scorched and salted farmland.
"These cursed beings!" Phoebe derides the uncanny appearance and endless malice that pour from their enemies' every fibre. "We are waiting here to be slaughtered." She raises her two front hooves in a mocking show, cycling them at the same time as she raises her arms.
The armour saved for her family from the emblem gifted forms around her, its glow giving her an angelic look, ready for a centauric cavalry. (Lucky Heath thought of that.) She charges to the forefront of the junction where the marauding group are coalescing to form an all-out swarm. "MOM!" Eleanor chases after her, glowing spear ready in hand and armour bellowing over her. "My mother and sister. . ." Sophia looked worried, with Agostino in her arms, still showing an expression of confidence for them. "Trust their might." He proclaims.
They look into each other's eyes first before rewatching the screen. "A battle for the ages!" Heath says before snapping his fingers. The interior walls of the building giving way and the floor space now acting as an invisible floating platform to be a vantage point over the scene.
Sophia raises her arm and creates a long harpoon-esque javelin, barbed and tipped with a nasty hook. She THROWS it over the incoming vindicators with axes ready and above their heads. Arcing down towards 1 of the 5's ravager front turret that controls its movements with a harness. "*H͟͜͞͡U͟͜͞͡A͟͜͞͡R͟͜͞͡ɣ!*" A sound of pain over the drowning footsteps, the destructive bolt shooter downed, loosening his grip upon the harness in reaction. Both the noise of its rider and the loss of pulling sensation making the beast's already chaotic nature be unleashed.
It barrels through the line, running through the open pathways between the cohorts as a messenger of death for the Doe's mother, its eyes emptied of everything except wrath. The fast galloping stomps causing the second turret to rattle enough to lose its stability.
It falls off behind the rushing brute, taking part of the scale armour with it, its posterior now open yet a hard target when moving at such incredible speeds. "*H͟͜͟͜͞͡͞͡A͟͜͞͡H-H͟͜͞͡A͟͜͞͡H-H͟͜͞͡A͟͜͞͡H-*" Beside the flanks of the stridoric ravager, glowing tracers similar to those of wings flew beside them, the ignited bolts shunking down and towards the family duo's general location. She raises her hand while trotting backwards, pose ready for her to activate her next throw. *Zip* The power of the long hilts made it call back for a second throw.
Eleanor, now finally catching up to her mother, readies her own weapon in front of herself, she forms it into a slanted blade structure, curved and warped to allow for air-resistance to glide and keep it aloft. She forms a Kylie-based war boomerang, which she tosses ahead.
It forms a straight line ahead of herself, its rotational energy from its glowing blue form shimmering in opposition to the orange light that bathes over them. Her aim was true, and its piercing strike reaches the tremendous right leg. Cleanly separating the skin and bone, through the ulna and radius of the creature, it finds its balance broken and it tumbles forward, sliding through the grass while doing its best to catch itself. The scaled armour that sat upon its vertebrae quickly sliding off and blocking its vision, A giant to be bled out.
The sight of one of their mighty beasts being felled caused the vindicator march to quicken their pace to that of a sprint, their axes swaying more heavily and their glints becoming brighter and more sporadic. The bolts reach their destination and go off in succession, too.
But the very devices they use for terror will be their undoing. The deer quickly dive into the dust, the craters now a makeshift trench for them to reform their weapons to something more modern. Replicating what they had seen, they created their own form of a machine gun. Remembering the memories of the warriors who had shown the power of its spewing light, they form the barrel and chamber to then be willed mentally forward. *'Fire.'* Both think at the same time. Straight lasers of sputtering thunder go through the enemies' failing efforts.
*rRT-ÆT-ÆT-ÆT-ÆT-* Where you heard it, it meant you were not its target. The vindicators fell in a suicidal charge forward, those that were smarter or more brutal began using the extra gambesons from the bodies of their brethren as padded shields for protection.
They closed in on their format, the salt aired with the stench of sweat and iron, wafting over Eleanor and Sophia in uncontrollable bursts. The blue predatory eyes within many tapirs' heads striking fear into their once indomitable hearts. But to no avail. A tidal wave of blue rode over their trench, the mennskr and deer using their combined weaponry as a single sweeping throw into the ranks of villains. "HOLD!" The barking order of Eirikr came with him harbouring his weapon for another wall of destruction.
They advanced through in coordinated stepping, the height of the wall accounted for by some of the Völsung sitting upon the clambering mass for an increased vantage point. As the frontline is down, the bolt shooters fired yet another round to seize the usurpers.
"RETREAT!" Eirikr made sure they kept a tight box while in lockstep, but another problem arose. "V E X!" Asdos screams in the background, five winged creatures with daggers flying above them and circling like eagles with talons, ready to strike. "*H͟͜͞͡A͟͜͞͡E H͟͜͞͡Æ H͟͜͞͡A!*" Their laughter signalled them to all strike together in unison. They divebomb down to sink their weapon into their prey, dodging incoming volleys of weaponry with their increased agility. "AT ONCE!" They fire the second wave upwards, fortunately eliminating four of the five vexes.
The 5th vex slunk down in a sacrificial pose, dagger raised with both hands above to plunge into the skull of one of their warriors. *CA-CHOUNK* And was successful. Weapon buried into the head of Jurfinn, his black eyes dulled as blood pooled over, armour soaked through.
The dagger was slanted and caught in the bone, the vex was pulled down with its weapon as the now-corpse lost all motor function. A shotgun spray from multiple sources tore through the distracted flier into tissue paper, now its grey mist dissipating into the air. They see the body of one of their once-greying comrades fall, collapsed and unable to be saved. But rather than making them dispirited, they raged. "FIRE AT WILL!" Glorious, it was such a fast rate that it appeared as huge cuboids of light rather than a breaker of 'portal bullets.'
Both foemen and earth were destroyed in the tide, everything pelleted, a resemblance to the holes of Swiss cheese as far as the glow of the moon allowed to be seen, but as a trade-off, the batteries of the hilts were losing charge too quickly for it to be recovered with ambient magic.
They fired the 17th barrage in under 10 Model seconds, and their hilts lost charge for long-ranged attacks. They recognised that in their fervour, they are now required to get close and personal. In the minds of many of our warriors, that is what they had wished in the first place. The deer jockeys rode forth, passengers with lances and steeds with thin, curved ploughs for bodily ghosting. They hammered the barren soil with enough strength to sound as a storm in the distance, ready to boom destruction wherever they see fit!
They land down into the curved crater line and jump up in full view of their enemies, crossbows primed, yet no bolts set for the explosions would be too close to their ranks. That was their mistake.
*CRASH* The sound of air compressed between the ploughs and bodies made away with their upper torsos created an uproar of limbs scattering and heads rolling away in droves, hundreds of vindicators and pillagers soon losing everything that had once been themselves. They demolished enough to tell it was over half of their forces now dead or dying, analytically a flawless victory with the saddening loss of one death. They began growing confident, even arrogant with taunts and jeers.
*CRK-CK-CK* The summoner of the vexes, the evoker, finally showed itself. Its spell of snapping jaw traps rising through the earth and lining itself with many hooves. The cries of the deer warriors echoed out as they feel front-first.
Launching their own riders unexpectedly, the last lines of vindicators took this chance to slash, hook and chop at the necks and bodies of our melee combatants, equalling the brutality we had shown upon them. Those who were not caught in the traps fell back and set a line to save their own. Of the 15 deer cavalry that were caught, 4 deer and 6 mennskr were brought back and saved, with varying degrees of injuries that were patched with makeshift cloth from the deads' armour, for the immobile deer to now be posts to shoot projectiles instead.
With their retreat back into the trenches, they focus their fire onto the turrets, while their own erratic movement made it hard to focus their attention of fire, there was enough volume to do so successfully. By their hip shooting, they cause the last 4 ravagers to go berserk.
With the enemy party's tactics in jeopardy, there were no clear walkways to set their aggression forward towards their quarry. And with the animalistic desire of the ravagers unable to cope, they made their own line through their own ranks, straightforward and acting closest to a tractor to wheat. Dozens of grey heads were pulled down from their respective crowds and crushed underfoot, the evoker obviously furious at the loss of control. "*H͟͜͞͡A͟͜͞͡R͟͜͞͡ɣ!*" He began his ritual to summon even more vexes, which began building foggy forms.
"STOP THAT GRÁR SKÍTR (GREY SHIT!)" Hervor bellows out, carving through the enemies with a half-body saw that was similar to her memory of Heath against the Spiritual Queen that whirled around herself in a dance of gory death.
"*H͟͜͞͡E͟͜͞͡ɣ͟͜͞͡-͟͜͞͡H͟͜͞͡U͟͜͞͡R͟͜͞͡ɣ͟͜͞͡!*" He called upon the fully formed vexes to first target her ever-closing distance, they shot to her as to stab where her circular blade would not meet, but she expected this. Once they got close enough that she could feel the tips of their blades sinking into her skin, she activated her trap. It turned into a dome that split each of their bodies in half, faces now turned to unexpected shock from their eternal smiles. "I have you." She shoots out the dome as a cone, firing through the skull of the evoker.
The cone retracts, showing a narrowing hole that punctures through their entirety, it stood there with no expression before collapsing the next moment after, another enemy down, legions left to be destroyed. The battle raged on through the darkness, both sides tired.
By the rivulets of blood soaking the empty farms, the corpses of the Illagers were left, with no more death from our side in stark addition. Of the 50 and 50 even split that had joined, only 43 mennskr and 46 deer were left. Less than 10% was lost, yet it felt as heavy as losing over half of themselves. Their hilts were scrubbed of red and their armour washed, ready for the next incoming enemy. "It should be-" A blue-robed illager stood atop one of the shorter structures, a library with the hands of its clock-head missing for its stripped gold.
"-the Illusioner." Just as its name was called, its form blurred and flickered down below, the sound of a squelch breaking its fall. Walking as if it were taking a stroll, its main body disappeared and three exact copies of itself split off, each travelling to their points of interest.
"None of those are its true body." Egill used his (replicated) magic sight to sense ahead, seeing that its presence was standing still while maintaining the incantation. Homing magic bolts soon shot off from each of their enchanted bows, which were deflected and destroyed using another wall in turn. Egill takes a seat upon Sophia, trusting her balance. "NOW!" They exact towards the direction of the Illusioner, him guiding her run with all people behind him, swarming the illusions with bullets to distract or even try to make them vanish.
Multiple sets of purple, fast-acting charges zapped and chunked through towards the incoming tag-team, blocked or shot out of the sky, they saw the evil magician be the first of its type to have a magic they found interesting from Heath's stories, teleportation.
It warped a short distance away, increasing tracking distance while setting mines that stayed between them, they were in groups of tens, each having the strength of an explosive bolt. Egill shot many 'portal bullets' toward him, but were shielded away with an invisible magic shield that stopped projectiles. He believes he recognised how it worked: It became visible if hit, magic activating in succession. What he has to do is to either overwhelm him, or to get close and bludgeon him it to drain his reserves for a final blow.
He sees one part of his squad not shooting for the others had it covered of the magic. In use of some bark he collected, he sets runes upon its surface to etch the spell for light, he moves to the right side in balance while keeping track the speed of his mount.
He rolls this while passing beside the Illusioner and taking large enough swings at it with a thickened 'portal club' into its shield, the light underneath the legs and blocked to show the form of the evil magician that has been staggered. They concentrate their guns to him and destroy the shield! Now shredding his form, he no longer has enough focus to keep the magic alight, his form turns pestered from the extreme pain of open nerves and internal organs now open for the air outside to touch. He collapses, twitching as a writhing mess.
Egill quickly comes along to jump off Sophia and to deliver the final blow, a chop of an executioner's blade into the neck. With the head separated, their goal is finished. And they are ready to return home for a break.
"They were worthy enemies." Sophia blinks her eyes, one moment she was still there, the next she was in the Uni-pod again. It opens, letting the artificial light to flow through and all 100 personnel that came in came out just as they had been, naked when entering. They quickly put on their clothes from the racks beside their private shelves and exit out to where the rest of their people are. They get cheered in as actors who provided a fantastic spectacle, many congratulating on their victory.
"That death felt all too real." Jurfinn then described how, as soon as he had died, he had turned to a spectator who saw over the whole battle through floating high above all after being lifted from his dropped body, a ghost incapable of interacting with others around him.
"Was not the worst pain I have experienced, felt closer to the tattoo I had scrawled across my chest." He explains, confused. "That is because I made sure the pain of your injuries had a limit. Many still cried from shock, but that is perfectly understandable!" Heath communicated through the devices, helping others understand how it was not as bad a suffering. "Why did we spectate the battle rather than be brought back to the real world?" Eraldo asks, one of the few deer cavalry chargers that had died.
"That I will cover for your two prizes for being part of the winning team this match." Heath asks while intoning that they should come back to the stage. They agree so and sit in their respective seating arrangements before Heath comes back out with another speech.
"In appreciation for our valiant heroes vanquishing a dreaded foe, I gift them these hilts!" 100 of each hilt variant were shown. "You may keep a specific length of your choice, so come on up!" He urges them on, proud that they had told a new strong tale of hardship and victory. Those who already had hilts gave it to their closest trusted warrior, and strangely, all of them chose the long hilts. "Why is that?" Heath quizzes. "Easier handling for guns." Egill states. Which gave Heath a sudden idea.
All of the 110 hilts, long and short, were teleported out of their hands and then brought back with no change, leading to stares. "Hold your hilts and think 'shorten' or 'lengthen.'" He says, hiding his tired expression while running on fumes for magic.
They do so, and all experience its size-altering capabilities with wonder. It was efficient in design and mechanics, further turning to something indispensable in the field of battle. "You are going to hurt yourself, Heath. STOP." Gorm gave a death stare to Heath, who hid his apology in hushed tones, stating he would pay for it later. "The second prize is something I have been dredging up from the back of my mind. Do you see a new designed slot in your hilts?" He asks, as part of the reason was for a pre-planned expansion.
The addition of customisable spell inscriptions for magic enchantments, currently only capable of 1 at a time, they are 'distance,' 'knockback,' 'magic efficiency,' 'punch,' 'speed' and 'splash.' A 25% increase of what their names each imply. [1]
"Each of you can take your own small tablet of enchantments where you can swap them out and put them into your weapons as needed." He quickly floats them to the winners, all finally ready for the next battle. "And if you win the next one, more of these weapons and enchantments will be provided. Train well and share your newfound strength. You will need it." Heath claps his hands, turning off the scene around them of the carnage they created back into the normal room it was. "The next stage will be tomorrow. Good night, everyone."
Once standing up, they take some food from the nearby stands by the Auto golems to go, all taking different directions for whichever destination they decide. The trip? Priceless, and many wondered what other grandiose views they might see from Heath's vivid imagination.
All go to sleep, to be ready and energised for the next day. Once at the crack of dawn, they view the rising sun through the false windows to their choice of environment, ecstatic.
[1] 1: Distance means it can travel further through the air without expending greater magic. 2: Knockback means that it is capable of putting friction upon objects it contacts to the direction it was travelling towards. 3: Magic efficiency means it has greater redundancy and circuitry to absorb greater amounts of ambient magic, including a small battery within its disc. 4: Punch means it can pierce through higher-density material without dissipating, meaning it can go through multiple layers of different materials. 5: Speed means it can travel the same distance as it usually can in less time. 6: Splash means when it comes into contact with a surface, it can release part of its magic to seep and act visually like an acid, disintegrating materials at a fast rate.