Chapter Text
This is Life. Its twelve days north of hopeless and a few degrees south of freezing to death. It's located solidly in the meridian of the cursed.
~ * ~
He could See the village overhead. It was located on a small, forested mountain island. The buildings made from wood and stone. It had stood there for many generations, and yet He knew all the buildings were new.
~ * ~
My village. And I would like to say it was very sturdy. It's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problem are the. . . “pests.”
~ * ~
He landed next to a small herd of sheep, his watery wings disappearing into his back. The humans hadn’t put them away yet. Or at least not all of them. The sheep watched him curiously as he summoned a watery knife from his water skin he always kept on him. He grabbed the nearest sheep, impaling it with the knife before summoning his wings again, taking the newly dead sheep with him, depositing it off the nearby cliff.
~ * ~
You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes. But we have. . .
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He opened the door to his house, peaking outside to see if the attack had already started. Vikings were frantically running around the village to protect it, a herd of sheep running away in a panicked frenzy. A fiery ghast-born came into view and turned to look at him, hissing. He was barely able to close the door in time before it summoned a torrent of fire, bursting around the edges of the already charred door.
And yep, the battle had started. “Hybrids,” he breathed.
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Most people would leave. Not us. We’re Vikings—we have stubbornness issues.
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He tried opening the door again, finding the hybrid gone and taking his chance to rush out of his house.
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My name’s Scar. Great name, I know. But it's not the worst. Parents believe hideous names will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn’t do that.
~ * ~
With cane in hand, Scar began making his way to the smithy to grab his ‘secret weapon’, which would help him save the day! Narrowly avoiding crashing into people countless times. He turned down an alley of sorts between two houses, and not looking where he was going, accidentally crashed into someone. Causing him to stumble and have to catch himself on his cane. Pain stabbed into his ankles and shot down his side, but he ignored it. It was a good thing that he worked as hard as he did to stay strong (even if he wasn’t the best fighter), else he would have been knocked over.
The other Viking shouted a battle cry before smiling and looked over at him.
“Morning!” he greeted. Scar waved in response, the Viking barely noticing as he took off to rejoin the battle, leaving Scar to continue his way to the smithy. As he made his way through town, many people shouted at him to move out of the way and to get back inside, however he easily ignored them. He was used to this! He travelled up a wooden boardwalk, crossing a normal path. However, just as he was about to cross it, a dragonewt came down, unleashing a torrent of purple acid right down the path. Luckily, someone grabbed him by the back of his blue and orange tunic, pulling him back harshly.
“What are you doing out again—What are you doing out, Scar?! Get back inside!” It was a strong woman with long red hair and bright green eyes, matching Scar’s own. Stitches wove across her skin, covering her in scars.
~ * ~
Her name is Cleo the Undead and is commonly called Zombie Cleo. Chieftess of the tribe. They say that when she was a baby, she popped a hybrid's head clean off its shoulders.
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As if to prove her strength, when Scar looked behind him, he watched her grab a smaller cart before flinging it at an unsuspected ice hybrid, almost sending it crashing down.
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Do I believe it? Yes, I do.
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“What have we got?” Cleo asked one of the Vikings near her.
“We’ve seen the Canary but ice hybrids, water hybrids. Oh, and Bork saw a blaze born,” the man finished telling her just as another ice hybrid sent out a wave of ice, causing Vikings behind them to scream as something exploded. She remained unphased.
“The Scarlet Macaw or the Watcher?”
“Not so far.”
“Good.”
~ * ~
Scar moved faster, breaking into a run as Vikings around him set fire to the braziers, sending them up to the sky to ward the hybrids away. Every hybrid had a different type of magic which enabled them to fly. If they couldn’t get to the ground, then they would have a much harder time destroying things. Finally, the smithy came into view. Scar forced himself to slow down, having to weave around the blacksmith just as he brought out a broken sword when he entered the smithy.
“Oh, how nice of you to show up! I thought you had been carried off!” The smithy apprentice made master teased. Although he was only maybe a year younger than Scar.
“Wha, who me? No—ah Martyn you wound me! Besides, I’m way too muscular for their taste,” Scar paused, grabbing a hammer which had been set off to the side before putting it up on the wall. “They wouldn’t know what to do with all--” he gestured to himself before flexing, “this.”
“Well, they need punching bags, don’t they?” Martyn responded, redoing his red headband he used to keep the hair from his eyes.
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I’ve been apprentices alongside Martyn since I was little. Him only recently being made the master since the last one—Ren—died. Even though I was the better smithy! Although, things I. . . create tended to fall a bit outside of what Vikings called normal.
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Cleo was stood on a different boardwalk which wove down the hill. Stopping Vikings as they ran past her to give them instructions. “We move to the lower defenses. We counterattack with the catapults,” she instructed. Someone shouted in affirmation and she joined her fellow Vikings in running down the boardwalk. However, before she can get too far another dragonewt sets fire to a house and it crashed down as they run past it.
~ * ~
See? Old village and lots of new houses.
~ * ~
“Fire!” Scar heard someone shout. He turned to see the commotion and watched three teens—plus and adult—run past the window as one rolled a cart full of water barrels. The first man to grab a barrel was Bigb. He was dark skinned and loved the cookies Scar would make, even helping him on occasion. Scar had come to learn that Bigb was truly fascinated with hybrids, and unlike most other Vikings, he seemed kind and gentle. However, Scar also knew that while he was afraid to, he would be willing to fight the hybrids when he needed to protect those he cared about.
The next one to grab two buckets was Joel. He thoroughly enjoyed causing chaos. He was strong, and was a good fighter who always picked fights wherever he could. He had even once picked a fight with Scar, who unfortunately lost and returned home with a black eye to a worried and slightly disappointed mom.
Then there was Impulse. He was the adult. He was a bigger man, and while intimidating to some, he had a soft spot to kids and was also kind once you got to know him. However, that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy causing chaos every now and then. He would stay with the teens during raids to ensure their safety as they put out fires around town.
The final and youngest to grab a bucket was none other than his younger brother, Bdubs. Scar watched as he ran towards the burning building and threw water at it to put one of the fires out. In Scar's honest and definitely most humble opinion, his younger brother was an over achiever. He often went out of his way to do things to get extra praise, often hurting himself in the process. However, whenever he didn’t succeed (which wasn’t nearly as often as Scar), they were still proud of him! Even though, if Scar tried to do the same thing, they would just be disappointed, because Scar had failed again. But that was fine! Scar didn’t care. He would prove them all wrong and show them that he truly was the Viking they wanted him to be!
Aw, their jobs are so much cooler, Scar thought as they ran past the window the other way. He leaned far forward, craning his head and their direction. However, he was so rudely pulled back by Martyn. “Aww, come one please, Martyn? I need to make my mark!” Scar exclaimed as he was pushed back into the shop.
“Oh, you’ve made plenty of marks!” Martyn teased, poking him as he continued, “All in the wrong places!”
“That’s not nice!” Scar complained, causing Martyn to laugh. “Come on, I just need two minutes. I’ll kill a hybrid; my life will get infinitely better. Everyone will call me a hero!”
“You can’t use a hammer, you can barely swing an axe, you can’t even throw one of these!” Martyn grabbed a bola before he handed it off to a Viking, who threw it at a yellow avian and it to fell from the sky. He wasn’t wrong. Whenever Scar tried to use those tools, pain would always stab into his joints. He could at least use an axe now; however, that didn’t mean he was good at it.
“First of all, that is very rude. And second of all, why would I need those when I have this?!” Scar grabbed his “special weapon", which was a bow from the back of the smithy. It was made with mechanical Redstone parts and perfectly balanced strength versus agility. While it also didn't strain him too much so as not to cause any pain. There was already an arrow knocked it, for he had installed a mechanic so he wouldn’t have to focus on the position of the arrow as much as just firing it.
Scar raised his arms, bow in hand and pretended to fire it. Only he actually did fire it, the arrow hitting the helmet of a Viking and the impact knocking them over. Luckily, it bounced off the helmet harmlessly. ‘It's a good thing I haven’t enchanted the bow with Piercing yet,’ Scar thought before he let out a sharp breath he hadn’t known he was holding, looking at Martyn sheepishly.
“See, now this is what I’m talking about,” Martyn told him, trying to make himself look taller as he walked towards Scar. It wasn’t that he was short, Scar was just tall, so he stood above many of the other Vikings.
“Okay, that was an accident, but--”
“No, no—Scar. If you ever want to get out there and fight hybrids, you need to stop all of. . .” Martyn paused, gesturing to Scar vaguely, “This.”
Scar looked down at himself and complained, “But you just pointed to all of me.”
Martyn smiled, poking him again. “Yes, that’s it! Stop being all of you.”
Scar exclaimed in mild offence and said, “Hey! You—you sir are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw. . . Vikingness contained.” Martyn just stared at him, arms crossed, a slight note of disapproval on his face. “There will be consequences!” Scar exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.
“I’ll take my chances. Here, make yourself useful and sharpen this sword,” Martyn turned, grabbed a sword, and tossed it behind him. Scar fumbling to catch it so not to cut himself. He sulked as he walked over to the grindstone and placed the sword against it to sharpen the blade. It didn’t matter if nobody believed in him. He was going to prove himself, and everyone would see how great he truly was, and they would call him a hero.