2014-09-16 - Skurge for your Supper

Walking along, with a giant ham on a stick, Volstagg harrumphed, speaking to no one in particular, "If thine did not wish whatever thou callst a 'yip dog' to not be considered for partaking why doth thoust trot it out whenst it is marinated?" Oh, the joys of having been walking and mistaken one of the little things for a quick bite..
      "Hmm? Pray tell, what is that, my friend?"
        Several yards behind the voluminous Asgardian, Fandral the Dashing stands with a small group of people near a bench on the side of the road. He is posing for a series of photographs with some gorgeous, (presumably) single mothers.
A couple of them do not seem to want to let him go.
  "I say, good Volstagg! A moment while I -- thy pardon, fair maidens... A moment while I -- no, please! Verily I must rejoin my companion... Aye, 'tis a real sword! Nay! None must lay a hand upon the legendary Grasscutter save my own! Volstagg! Volstagg!!"
   Fandral manages to extricate his arm from an overly eager woman, and trots after his larger friend.
At this point, Volstagg glances over at Fandral, "Yes, a fine day indeed! Verily, for thou has shown that thou shall be the one paying for the next round then! And of course, thine blade is a real one. Even if it be only fit for taking on care of thine lawn, for thou hast said so thineself!" Otherwise taking a bite over of his giant ham, the next barb that Volstagg would have shared was cut off.
        "HAH. I come to Midgard and what do I find? A fool and a flagon for an oaf. I have business but adding thine heads to place on pikes would take but a moment."
        The hulking presence of SKURGE the Executioner came from the crowds, parting them as if rage itself through the water.
        "Forsooth, my oft-deluded companion!" Fandral retorts with a short laugh. He claps his friend on the back with some enthusiasm. "Better than my weapon is good for something, than noth -- Sleipnir's Steaming Dung!" The lincoln-green clad warrior spins around on the ball of his foot, drawing his katana from the scabbard on his back in one, elegant motion.
        Grasscutter sings as it slices through the air.
        "Back, O' citizens of York!" he calls out to the pedestrians and motorists nearby. "'Tis not safe for ye in this place -- for the present moment, no more. Verily a rat hath climbed upward from yon sewer to befoul the surface world!"
        Of course, barely anyone leaves; this is New York. A skit between members of the local medieval societies and theatre companies happens on the streets at any given time of day or night. "Ooh, would you look at the costumes!" one passer-by calls out. "Quick, Honey -- grab the cell phone! I wanna picture..."
At this point, even the hammy one went to fall back, his hands going over and twisting away the bone then after one final bite, hands sweeping up to draw his axe from behind his back. "Thy fiend! Thou art not worthy to insult the fine mug fo mead that I wouldst have had thoust not interrupted mine conversation wtih mine companion before dinner!" Going to flank over to the other side of Fandral, Volstagg's heavy axe was out and ready. "And citizens of this city of the York that is New, take care so thou dost not get caught up in the battle we wouldst have!"
Skurge drew the Bloodaxe from his back, it glowing with the energies of rage and darkness, "So then, Warriors. Shall we make a wager of how long it takes me to separate thine heads from thine bodies? I wouldst hardly call thou sport, so Is uppose the wager is pointless then. For we have a loutish fool and a flummoxing oaf whom would be better roasted. And I'll haul your carcasses to Fenris so that he might have something to dine on in remembrance of the day to come when he tears out the throat of the Allfather!"
        Sunlight gleams off Fandral's blade as he guides the weapon slowly into a high guard. By now there is a fleet of cellphones in the hands of more courageous -- or more ignorant -- spectators, with various individuals pointing at the trio of warriors in turn and p
roviding their own commentary.
        "Ooo, that's some nice form there!"
        "And ya catch that dialogue? Gotta love that Old English -- "
        "It's not authentic. I'm a Lit-major."
        "Well, yer 'lit'..."
        Fandral glances at his friend and sidesteps to the right. Once. Twice. He pauses. "What is thy game here, O' Skurge the Unfortunate? 'Tis hardly a fair fight thou hast picked with us! What say you, Volstagg? Shall we take turns against this cretin? I should letthee go first, for I would not wish to end this fight, ere it begins."
There's a hiss from Skurge, "Don't deny me sport, Asgardians. What little of it I'll get before I separate your heads from your bodies." Casually shfiting the massive double bladed axe from one hand to the other, even as the pair of Asgardians went to circle him. "And today we'll answer a question, Fandral. And that shall be whether thine head is as empty as thine boasts. I'll cleave it to but the sound of coconuts thy keep shifting about with thine prattle. And I have business in this realm, and I thank you for being so pathetic as to not otherwise take up so much time from it!"
With that, Volstagg went to charge over from one side, even as Fandral went to sidestep over to the other, his axe swingign through the air as Skurge went to whip about and switch the axe over to the other hand, catching the blade swung by Volstagg on one hand, Bloodaxe in the other and then blasting a flame of hellfire over at Fandral!
        Fandral dives sideways, tucking in his katana and rolling on his shoulder to come up on one knee. Where he had been standing mere moments before is only a scorchmark and melted concrete. Several of the bystanders back away -- finally -- as realisation dawns:
        This is no skit, nor play, nor trick.
        "Thou art a fool to trouble this world at all, Skurge!" the blond warrior retorts as he breaks into a run at the axe-wielding assailant. "Hold on, Volstagg -- " He raises Grasscutter to strike diagonally downward at Skurge, aiming for the man's bicep.Volstagg is sent flying away as Skurge hurls him, and Volstagg literally rebounds along the ground, smashing over through the front window of a bakery, having somehow maintained a grip on his axe as he smashed through the glass window.
Skurge was a little too slow as the swing from the katana caught him along the flank, drawing blood, "And you're a greater fool for getting in my way!" Charging to close quarters, Skurge attempted to smash over at Fandral with a vicious haymaker, blood flowing from along the slash mark that Fandral had just cleaved.
       "AIEEEEEEE!" shrieks a woman, and then another, and another from within the building that Volstagg has just... demolished. The glass pane that once had occupied the window through which Volstagg had been thrown belongs to a beauty salon -- several ladies and a couple of men hide behind benches and counters, all in various states of having their hair cut, or the skin peeled, or their bikini-line waxed.
        One woman bolts out the door, pulling up her jeans as she goes.
        Fandral rolls sideways to avoid the heavy axe-swing and responds with a low slash, aimed at Skurge's ankles. By now, several of the cellphones that had been taking pictures and videos are now in use -- as their owners dial 911 all with the same emergency.
        "Save thy breath, Bilgesnipe Buttocks! Thou hast need of it!"
This is no sport - this is real and deadly. As blood flowed over from the wound, Skurge went to slash down with Bloodaxe, it glowing amost a solid white with supercharged energy as he swung it down, intercepting the quick strikes over from Fandral then, but the agilityof the Asgardian preventing a quick counterattack. Right as Volstagg went to surge out of the bakery, covered in flour and powder as he wetn to hurl the meat counter through the air at Skurge, "THOU HAS INTERRUPTED MINE LUNCH FIEND!"
Skurge went to whirl around, blasting an energy bolt that disintegrated the hurled weapon in midair!
        Fandral blinks.
        The hesitation costs him a backward kick to his midriff, sending him skidding into the crowd -- and he narrowly avoids cracking his head on the curb. Flipping nimbly onto his feet, he pulls Grasscutter into a tight, middle-guard and advances with greater care.
        Sirens blare from down the street in both directions as the police and fire brigade rush toward the battle-scene. A startled motorist slams on the brakes of his car -- which lock and he careens sideways toward the fearsome Skurge. Fandral's eyes widen as he, too, leaps toward his enemy -- sword lifted over his head.
As Fandral goes to swing his sword downwards, Skurge goes to whip up his hand. The blade pierced it cleanly through the palm then, disabling Skurge's hand then, but leavign the blade stuck, blood flowing from his hand. With a maniacal grin on his face, Skurge went to swing Bloodaxe through the air - but thanks to the close range, all he could use was the flat of the blade, trying to send Fandral flying!
Volstagg charged in, going from the flank once more at Skurge before a kick sent him sprawling again to the side!
        The careening vehicle flips onto its roof as both tires on one side are forced off the wheels and under the chassis. It comes to a jarring halt against a streetlight mere meters from Skurge, Volstagg and Fandral.
        Police vehicles stop on either side of the battling trio as officers begin moving the crowd further away. In the sky a helicopter flies past as a man with a megaphone orders people to leave.
        And the Asgardians to 'cease and desist'.
        Fandral might have complied had he not been soaring through the air toward the same street light that had stopped the overturned car.
        The cops again order Skurge and the Warriors Two to cease fighting.
There's a 'PFAH!' from Skurge then as he goes to hold his Bloodaxe up menacingly, the cops likely opening fire on him at this point to no real effect. Holding his hands up, Volstagg went, "Thine beings of Midgard, we are here to protect thee!"
Right as Skurge went to fire an energy blast over from Bloodaxe through the air, aimed at that annoying helicopter! Fortunately missing by a mile. "What matter of Midgardian trickery be this, flying with an imbecillic thing which makes noise of a yowling mewling Fenpup?”
        *SLASH*
        Instead of striking the street-light, Fandral manages to slice straight through it and sail onto the verandah of a local cafe. He falls straight through it just as the severed top of the light-post crashes to the ground beside the upside down car. The crowd parts around the cafe for Fandral to emerge like a hero, sword in hand, motioning with his other arm for spectators to move aside.
        "I... I think they're... with Thor..." breathes one of the nearby officers.
        "What, Goldilocks with the Hammer?" asks another.
        "Shaddup!" orders a third. "They're tearin' up the neighbourhood -- take 'em down before someone gets hurt!"
        At least four of the police officers at the incident fire upon Volstagg -- as well as Skurge -- and two of the ones nearest Fandral point their pistols at him. Fuel leaks from the overturned car, spilling out onto the street.
        "Halt, I say!" Fandral calls out urgently. "Halt, ere this foe turns his fell weapon upon thee! This is no fight for mortals!" Still... more shots ring out.
The intervention of the mortals had given the Warriors Two a moment of cover. At this point, the shots pinged off Skurge to no real effect other than irritation. Getting up, hissing, "You Midgardians die for interrupting my enjoyment. But thine bravery in the face of your superior shall earn you a place in Valhalla. Well met, not often have I met those who face thier doom when outclassed with such lack of fear. You die well at my hand."
At this point, Volstagg went to charge over towards Fandral, going over to grab at his friend by the breeches, "Come, let us put this lout upon his buttocks that he prances about like the strumpet he doth fancy!" With the first heave, Volstagg would hurl Fandral through the air at Skurge. With the second heave, he would hurl the car through the air, leaking fuel and all.
        "Put me down, thou Oversized Ogre!" Fandral protests the moment his friend picks him up. "Put me down! This is most undignif -- " He does not get to finish the sentence.
        Soaring through the air at high speed, Fandral angles his katana to redirect one of Skurge's attacks as only a master-fencer could, and follows through with a slash at his enemy's shoulderblade as he passes by.
        He tucks and rolls on the ground opposite Skurge, whether successful or not in his counter-attack. Meanwhile, the damaged car lands with a loud crash on an empty stretch of road beyond the crowd of onlookers. A spark against the road causes the car to catch alight, and the gas-tank explodes.
        Fortunately, the driver had already freed himself prior to being tossed by the immense Asgardian.
        "Tell us what thy business is, here in Midgard, Skurge," Fandral orders him. "Wherefore hast thou come?"
The sudden flung Fandral through the air staggers Skurge off course. Right as Fandral flipped away from Skurge, Skurge's flailing swing catching the car and having it erupt about him. Burning, his entire form covered over in flaming gasoline and bits of shrapnel then, flaming as he was caught over in the middle of a raging inferno. Howling over in agonizing pain. Rising, the Bloodaxe covered wtih the flowing blood of his damaged hand, his body a literal inferno.
        "I... SAY... THEE..."
        "NAY!"
        Lifting the Bloodaxe above his head, his rage, his hate, his agony fueling a bolt from the heavens of pure hellfire, going to charge over at the duo, his entire form afire!
        "Methinks he doth protest too -- " the dashing Asgardian starts to say as Skurge charges.
        "Oh... my... God..." one of the nearest police officers breathes, staring in horror at the charging, axe-wielding behemoth. Fandral glances meaningfully at Volstagg, then shifts his gaze 'upward', then 'downward' as Skurge draws closer to them. He braces himself until the last possible moment, ducks and slashes viciously at the attacker's Achilles Tendon.
Skurge is injured. Skurge is berserk. Skurge is beyond any capacity to feel pain in his blood fueled berserker rage. Thankfully, Fandral knows how to deal with this - and slashing through Skurge's hamstring over sends him tumbling over, still aflame. Moving to try and stand, right over as Volstagg's axe was boomeranged through the air, bouncing off Skurge's body and sending him flailing, flat on his back.
Flat on his back, barely able to move, Skurge could not reach over for the Bloodaxe even as his body continued to burn. Instead he started to laugh, "Foolish Asgardian. My love and I will separate much more than thine head from thine shoulders."
His hands clenched, on his back, "And we will cut the chains of one even greater from who would rend the sun itself and let all of Midgard mourn for it would fortell it's doom."
Volstagg catches his axe as it boomerangs back to his hands, right in time for Skurge to smash his fist down, cracking the pavement, "And the sky will bleed, the stars cry out, and the moon howl in agony we would bring!"
                                                                                                                                              
                               
        The entire crowd -- cops included -- yelps in alarm as Skurge's fist connects with the earth. At least no more shots are fired, for all the good they would do anyway. Fandral nods to the Bloodaxe and Volstagg.
        "Best relieve him of that," he advises his friend even as he presses the tip of his sword into Skurge's throat, drawing blood. A warning. "This secretion of a Jotun's nostril speaks in riddles. Who is this 'we' of whom he speaks? I would see him transported back to Asgard to answer some questions -- away from vulnerable mortals. What say you?"                                                           
                            A barking laugh from Skurge, "And a mongrel that even Odin fears would rend his other eye from him and then his head. Tell the All-Father that his doom comes, and the sky shall rain and suffer." Skurge suddenly rolled, even as the sword slashed at his throat - going tograb at Bloodaxe, and swing - not to cleave Fandral, but to cleave existence for a bright half second,r olling away and fleeing!             
             Fandral curses.
        Several times.
        Grasscutter slices into the ground as if it were butter, but it is no use: Skurge is gone. Fandrals makes as if to follow, but the portal closes before he can disappear through it. Turning about, he gives Volstagg a look of disappointment.
        Then wry accusation.
        "Explain thyself, my rotund friend -- why didst thou let him escape?"
        Slowly, gingerly, several police officers advance on the two Asgardians -- weapons drawn. "I... I..." stammers a nervous man with a thinning hairline. "I have to ask you to put your weapons down, my lords -- um, sirs. And... who -- what -- was that?"
There was a yelp from Volstagg, "Just like the coward to flee the whupping from whence he so rightly deserved! And thou were a bit slow my friend. For after all thou had him thanks to mine intervention at his neck and thou didst let him get away!" Volstagg went to wavea meaty hand dismissively over at the police, falling into the role he had taken upon himself - never mind Fandral had done most of the fighting!
"And Midgardians thou art saved from the miscreant Skurge whom would have let thine blood run in the streets! Thou hast met the mighty Volstagg the Valiant and Fandral the.. Occasionally fair, and the day whence saved by mine might!"
        Fandral scoffs.
        "I? I let him get away?" He lowers his sword so the tip almost drags against the ground, and takes a step toward his friend. With his free hand he pokes a finger at Volstagg's generous girth. "Were it not for my fantastic prowess that knave surely would have wiped the road with both THEE and thine HAM!"
        The nearest cops exchange glances. Dubious glances. One look from a woman in uniform would seem to say, "Do they even know we're here?" By now, the crowd has regained some of its composure and more and more spectators vie for a glance of the two heroes.
        Arguing heroes.
An annoyed Volstagg the Vociferous shot back, "And had thine not been so slow and distracted with thine fancy for womenfolk above all else thou wouldst have not hast needed me to not only save thee but mine food as well! For that thou shall have to heap upon additionalindigity for having made me famished and thou shall hast to pay for mine next meal!"