Post by Mr. C on Dec 5, 2008 20:32:32 GMT -5
Winds howled, dragging cold air and flakes of snow with it as it raced like a mad driver on a Californian interstate. It danced, it spun up and down the ramparts of a very large stone wall. It screamed as it voyaged, snow flakes rolling up over jagged stone and old mortar. The white of the stone used to build the battlement was just as white, if not whiter than the snow that it sat in. This was a wall that was kept in the utmost repair. Towers shot up on either side. roofed in wood with a large open space for, assumedly, archer fire. Between, there were many more spots for the bowmen to attack from. At the bottom of the wall, there were countless holes drilled through the wall. Not by some outside force, but instead as a space for speer men to aid in the defense. Those two details were the strongest, although it was quite obvious there were far more components to its construction then the human mind could imagine. For this wall was no ordinary castle wall. This was the stone structure that encased Asgaard, Brett Cross was headed home.
At the horizon, just crossing over the curve of the land, a figure was trudging through the snow, marching against the furious gusts of wind that swarmed around him. The snow was falling, and was already thick beneath his feet. While still to far to make any details of his figure out, he was indeed wrapped in some kind of cloak, and carrying something very large on his back with one hand, his other was aiding his travel by pressing a walking stick through the snow with every step. Behind him, the sun was slowly setting, turning his walk in to something quite surreal, the entirety of his figure was one bulbous black shadow. He marched on through the torments of the elements. "Almost Home," was the thought that kept him going. He was an older man. now. The cold got to him. It struck him in his joints, made it hard to walk. But by the time he reached the castle wall, any such notion would be gone. He was "The Norse Hammer", after all. A warrior who nothing of fear and had an endless well of endurance and stamina.
Brett, weary, shielded his eyes to the harsh winds and looked up to the battlements, expecting to see a rugged guard in full armor waving happily at him, encouraging his return. He was loved in Asgaard, he was respected, looked up to, deified. There was no such guard. While quite odd to Brett Cross, he thought nothing of it and trudged on.
When at long last he reached the large wooden door, engraved with glorious prints of war and women, he stopped and could hear, even over the loud roar of the wind, an even louder roar. Laughter. By the sounds of it, all of Asgaard and even Odin himself were enjoying a round of the finest mead inside. Surely the party was for him, perhaps the guard had spotted him before he had made it inside and called for the celebrations to begin before he had entered the fortress. They'd have a boar's leg already cooked up and a mug of mead ready for him for the exact second he stepped inside! He reached up to knock for entry, but the door was already open the slightest crack. He pushed it open wide enough to enter and did just that.
But what he saw inside was not what he expected at all. Inside, was a peasant, a jester, a wanderer, a trickster, a vagabond, a rogue. There were a thousand words that came to mind for this fellow, and not all of them as pleasant as those. A mere novelty toy had taken over his proud return! All of Asgaard had gathered around this man as he boasted loudly of such acts as "Being able to pull a gold piece from behind a maiden's ear, turning water to mead, or even making an entire herd of cattle disappear." Brett heard the boasting and growled under his breath. He tore off his cloak despite the cold and not-so-gently forced his way to the middle of the crowd where the traveler stood. When he made it to the edge of the circle, he saw the jester standing at center with the great Odin himself, calling out his next trick to all.
He wore ragged clothes, a disgusting sight. He was robed from head to toe, his wool hood pulled up over his head. It was not visible, but it could be sure his hair was knotted, matted, dry, filthy or his coarse grey beard pointed out in all directions, for sure it was not a man to set foot in side Asgaard's walls! Especially by stark contrast with the great Odin, who was dressed in only the finest of robe, his bright colors and jewels shone bright like the white of his hair and beard. The sight made Brett sick to his stomach. Even he had never had an audience with Odin, and today was to be his chance.
For, you see, Brett had been missing for quite some time because, after falling miserably to Joe Dark, regardless of his later victory, he had to prove to all that it was a fluke beyond any doubt. So, out he went in to the deep Norse wilderness, and there he found and slain through glorious battle, a massive Frost Giant. In fact, the object he still carried at his back, the object that was as large as his massive frame was indeed the head of a Frost Giant. Brett gripped it's snakes of black hair tightly as he saw the disgusting scene.
"And now! Now, ah plan t'produce a small chick from the great beard of our king, Odin!"
The traveler boomed out his next trick, quite proud and full of himself. He attempted his best Norse accent, that fell flat for Brett Cross, but seemed to be just good enough to fool the others. The crowd around him "ooo'ed" and "awww'ed" about him in anticipation. They wanted to see such a feat, too! Odin boomed out a laugh and turned to the traveler, stretching his neck out so as the rogue could investigate the beard closer.
"Ha, I assure you young traveler ye shall find nary such a thing in these greyed whiskers!"
The traveler merely smiled and reached in, but "The Norse Hammer" had seen enough. Dropping the massive cranium as he entered the circle, he shouted out for an end to the merriment.
"Stop, vagabond! Ye filthy wand'rer and 'omeless wretch! Thou can't touch a single 'air on the head of grand master Odin! For he is what ye only wish ye could be! Powerful, wise, fearless and above all, clean! Thou dost not even deserve t'be in such greatness's presence! Step back at once, or your 'ead it shall be."
At once, everything fell hushed, and all eyes were on Brett Cross, the way he always thought they should be. At first, the man was taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure. With a quivering clearing of his throat, he retorted to Cross.
"Do you e- Ahem, ahem. Dost thou even know t'who you speak? You call me a vagabond, yet ye burst through yonder gate carrying the 'ead of some beast and interrupt a spectacle with the great Odin? Dost thou even know who I am? I am Christian of The Angel's Way, and I assure ye that ye do not want to be on my bad side, for I am known world around for my trickery! I could with the swipe of my hand do away with your head, much like you carry the head of some beast yourself!"
Brett Cross, noticing the initial quiver smirked to himself and stepped in towards Christian, it was his turn to stretch out his neck just like Odin had done before.
"I darest the. Try."
"I... I'm warning you, I haven't the fear. I shall do't!"
With that, Brett was for sure that Christian was a fraud, and took another step in, this time with a single foot. He stepped in with his right and as he did he clamped both hands together, then pivoting with his front foot whilst pushing off with his back, he was able to bring both hands in to Christian's face viciously. The homeless trickster did a flip and a half in mid-air, landing flat on his stomach before rolling on to his back, unconscious. With his hood knocked down, even through a quickly swelling eye socket, it was quite obvious that the traveler was not what he claimed to be, and was merely an elderly man trying to make a quick dollar and would most likely steal from fortress of Asgaard as well, first chance he got.
When everyone realized they had been had, and Brett Cross had saved them the embarrassment of foolery, they all crowed in around him. Even Odin was impressed because he knew that had Cross not saved him, he for sure would have been pick-pocketed or worse. With all of the attention now turned, Cross stepped back and picked up the Frost Giant's head.
"Hark! Now then, who of ye wishes to 'ear the tale of a Frost Giant's demise in glorious battle?!"
Brett Cross' glorious return was stopped initially, but through his cunning, intelligence and sheer strength he prevailed. To Cross, Christian is no different then said wanderer. This Monday will be just as easy of a dispatch. While the story may or may not be just that, a story, there's no doubt that Brett Cross is by far the superior. Christian is a small, slower, more foolish wrestler who has been out of practice for nearly a year. Brett Cross, the large beast of a man he is will have no problem defeating Christian and making his return far more glorious than his opponent's. As it's been shown countless times, The Hammer Mjolnir needs only strike once.
Aye, now who does wish to 'ear the tale of a Frost Giant's demise?
At the horizon, just crossing over the curve of the land, a figure was trudging through the snow, marching against the furious gusts of wind that swarmed around him. The snow was falling, and was already thick beneath his feet. While still to far to make any details of his figure out, he was indeed wrapped in some kind of cloak, and carrying something very large on his back with one hand, his other was aiding his travel by pressing a walking stick through the snow with every step. Behind him, the sun was slowly setting, turning his walk in to something quite surreal, the entirety of his figure was one bulbous black shadow. He marched on through the torments of the elements. "Almost Home," was the thought that kept him going. He was an older man. now. The cold got to him. It struck him in his joints, made it hard to walk. But by the time he reached the castle wall, any such notion would be gone. He was "The Norse Hammer", after all. A warrior who nothing of fear and had an endless well of endurance and stamina.
Brett, weary, shielded his eyes to the harsh winds and looked up to the battlements, expecting to see a rugged guard in full armor waving happily at him, encouraging his return. He was loved in Asgaard, he was respected, looked up to, deified. There was no such guard. While quite odd to Brett Cross, he thought nothing of it and trudged on.
When at long last he reached the large wooden door, engraved with glorious prints of war and women, he stopped and could hear, even over the loud roar of the wind, an even louder roar. Laughter. By the sounds of it, all of Asgaard and even Odin himself were enjoying a round of the finest mead inside. Surely the party was for him, perhaps the guard had spotted him before he had made it inside and called for the celebrations to begin before he had entered the fortress. They'd have a boar's leg already cooked up and a mug of mead ready for him for the exact second he stepped inside! He reached up to knock for entry, but the door was already open the slightest crack. He pushed it open wide enough to enter and did just that.
But what he saw inside was not what he expected at all. Inside, was a peasant, a jester, a wanderer, a trickster, a vagabond, a rogue. There were a thousand words that came to mind for this fellow, and not all of them as pleasant as those. A mere novelty toy had taken over his proud return! All of Asgaard had gathered around this man as he boasted loudly of such acts as "Being able to pull a gold piece from behind a maiden's ear, turning water to mead, or even making an entire herd of cattle disappear." Brett heard the boasting and growled under his breath. He tore off his cloak despite the cold and not-so-gently forced his way to the middle of the crowd where the traveler stood. When he made it to the edge of the circle, he saw the jester standing at center with the great Odin himself, calling out his next trick to all.
He wore ragged clothes, a disgusting sight. He was robed from head to toe, his wool hood pulled up over his head. It was not visible, but it could be sure his hair was knotted, matted, dry, filthy or his coarse grey beard pointed out in all directions, for sure it was not a man to set foot in side Asgaard's walls! Especially by stark contrast with the great Odin, who was dressed in only the finest of robe, his bright colors and jewels shone bright like the white of his hair and beard. The sight made Brett sick to his stomach. Even he had never had an audience with Odin, and today was to be his chance.
For, you see, Brett had been missing for quite some time because, after falling miserably to Joe Dark, regardless of his later victory, he had to prove to all that it was a fluke beyond any doubt. So, out he went in to the deep Norse wilderness, and there he found and slain through glorious battle, a massive Frost Giant. In fact, the object he still carried at his back, the object that was as large as his massive frame was indeed the head of a Frost Giant. Brett gripped it's snakes of black hair tightly as he saw the disgusting scene.
"And now! Now, ah plan t'produce a small chick from the great beard of our king, Odin!"
The traveler boomed out his next trick, quite proud and full of himself. He attempted his best Norse accent, that fell flat for Brett Cross, but seemed to be just good enough to fool the others. The crowd around him "ooo'ed" and "awww'ed" about him in anticipation. They wanted to see such a feat, too! Odin boomed out a laugh and turned to the traveler, stretching his neck out so as the rogue could investigate the beard closer.
"Ha, I assure you young traveler ye shall find nary such a thing in these greyed whiskers!"
The traveler merely smiled and reached in, but "The Norse Hammer" had seen enough. Dropping the massive cranium as he entered the circle, he shouted out for an end to the merriment.
"Stop, vagabond! Ye filthy wand'rer and 'omeless wretch! Thou can't touch a single 'air on the head of grand master Odin! For he is what ye only wish ye could be! Powerful, wise, fearless and above all, clean! Thou dost not even deserve t'be in such greatness's presence! Step back at once, or your 'ead it shall be."
At once, everything fell hushed, and all eyes were on Brett Cross, the way he always thought they should be. At first, the man was taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure. With a quivering clearing of his throat, he retorted to Cross.
"Do you e- Ahem, ahem. Dost thou even know t'who you speak? You call me a vagabond, yet ye burst through yonder gate carrying the 'ead of some beast and interrupt a spectacle with the great Odin? Dost thou even know who I am? I am Christian of The Angel's Way, and I assure ye that ye do not want to be on my bad side, for I am known world around for my trickery! I could with the swipe of my hand do away with your head, much like you carry the head of some beast yourself!"
Brett Cross, noticing the initial quiver smirked to himself and stepped in towards Christian, it was his turn to stretch out his neck just like Odin had done before.
"I darest the. Try."
"I... I'm warning you, I haven't the fear. I shall do't!"
With that, Brett was for sure that Christian was a fraud, and took another step in, this time with a single foot. He stepped in with his right and as he did he clamped both hands together, then pivoting with his front foot whilst pushing off with his back, he was able to bring both hands in to Christian's face viciously. The homeless trickster did a flip and a half in mid-air, landing flat on his stomach before rolling on to his back, unconscious. With his hood knocked down, even through a quickly swelling eye socket, it was quite obvious that the traveler was not what he claimed to be, and was merely an elderly man trying to make a quick dollar and would most likely steal from fortress of Asgaard as well, first chance he got.
When everyone realized they had been had, and Brett Cross had saved them the embarrassment of foolery, they all crowed in around him. Even Odin was impressed because he knew that had Cross not saved him, he for sure would have been pick-pocketed or worse. With all of the attention now turned, Cross stepped back and picked up the Frost Giant's head.
"Hark! Now then, who of ye wishes to 'ear the tale of a Frost Giant's demise in glorious battle?!"
Brett Cross' glorious return was stopped initially, but through his cunning, intelligence and sheer strength he prevailed. To Cross, Christian is no different then said wanderer. This Monday will be just as easy of a dispatch. While the story may or may not be just that, a story, there's no doubt that Brett Cross is by far the superior. Christian is a small, slower, more foolish wrestler who has been out of practice for nearly a year. Brett Cross, the large beast of a man he is will have no problem defeating Christian and making his return far more glorious than his opponent's. As it's been shown countless times, The Hammer Mjolnir needs only strike once.
Aye, now who does wish to 'ear the tale of a Frost Giant's demise?
