Katie
Active Member
@0rganist
The Scandinavian District
The clangor of the swords had died away, the shouting of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay on the red-stained snow of December. The pale bleak sun that glittered so blindingly from the ice-fields and the snow-covered plains struck sheens of silver from armor and broken blade, where the unconscious students lay in heaps. The nerveless hand yet gripped the broken hilt: helmeted heads, back-drawn in the rows, tilted red beards and golden beards grimly upward, as if in the last invocation to Ymir the frost-giant.
A battlefield had occurred here, and it was still on-going. It was simply the way of the Scandinavian Mages. To maintain their magic, they would have to pay tribute to their Gods by partaking in glorious combat. It is not meant for regular students, as such practices are frowned upon by the modern age. To accommodate the northern students from Scandinavia, the Mercenary Nation offered a vast sum of money to create a special closed off part of Arcadia for their students to continue their traditions to maintain their magic. No other students from another nation would come here. Or so they thought.
He stood like a red silhouette, standing apart from the white snowy landscape. Shirtless, and yet, his red warpainted body was like a bright light to attract the angry bulls. Dyami Abenaki boldly participated in the Scandinavian students' brawl for his own enjoyment and rush of battle. The Cheveyo and the Scandinavians' traditions were much alike, and the Blood Eagle has been much pleased with all this conflict.
And there it was, the sound of rushing steps that moved towards him. Blindly and full of rage with the blessing of the Norse Gods. A male student from Norway rushed towards Dyami with his battle hammer, empowered by Thor's blessing as it was sparking with intense lightning. He expressed an animalistic roar, his own forehead covered in blood from a recent cut he received previous battle.
Dyami turned around to face the warrior. In both of his hands, he had tomahawk axes with feathers of the Blood Eagle decorating them. The warrior went on a wild swing, the maul sails past his face as Dyami performed a swift dodge by lowering himself to his knees. He swiftly stood up while pivoting himself to the side of the larger opponent. His tomahawks were used by skills hands, as he moved his right tomahawk to the ankle of the Viking, only to pull with minimal force as he used the man's own momentum against him, causing the warrior to stumble onto his back as Dyami swiftly followed down by a strong smash into his sternum, using the flat hammer like end of his tomahawk axe.
The swift one-two combo happened in a flash. Saliva and soft droplets of blood hung in the air as Dyami fractured a chest bone to the follower of Thor. An injury leaving the man unable to move and continue the rite.
He was panting. The battle had gone on for hours. A massive close free-for-all battlefield, and yet, he was not sated yet. He needed more. His body covered in injuries. Blood-sprained skin that now turned purple and red from hits by a hammer. Cuts at his lower thigh from a sword. And several cuts on his chest from spears and arrows.
But there was one warrior whom he had not yet gotten the chance to fight. A single female who stood apart from all the others as she rammed through the battlefield with the blessing of Ymir. Dyami looked onwards towards the field of battle, his eyes locked towards hers as they were alone. All around them were unconscious bodies of other warriors from Scandinavia.
His gaze was cold as the ice around them. He was calm, yet seething with a warrior's untamed fury. His tomahawks were blood-stained and despite not being part of Gunhild's people, he certainly proved himself to be a worthy challenge. Dyami's skin appears to pale in comparison to the blood red war-paints on his face and chest.
A meeting between warriors required no words to be said. Only the resonating sound of their blades vibrating in the air. The sensation of one's flesh being cut as your blood stains the purity of the white snow.
The Scandinavian District
The clangor of the swords had died away, the shouting of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay on the red-stained snow of December. The pale bleak sun that glittered so blindingly from the ice-fields and the snow-covered plains struck sheens of silver from armor and broken blade, where the unconscious students lay in heaps. The nerveless hand yet gripped the broken hilt: helmeted heads, back-drawn in the rows, tilted red beards and golden beards grimly upward, as if in the last invocation to Ymir the frost-giant.
A battlefield had occurred here, and it was still on-going. It was simply the way of the Scandinavian Mages. To maintain their magic, they would have to pay tribute to their Gods by partaking in glorious combat. It is not meant for regular students, as such practices are frowned upon by the modern age. To accommodate the northern students from Scandinavia, the Mercenary Nation offered a vast sum of money to create a special closed off part of Arcadia for their students to continue their traditions to maintain their magic. No other students from another nation would come here. Or so they thought.
He stood like a red silhouette, standing apart from the white snowy landscape. Shirtless, and yet, his red warpainted body was like a bright light to attract the angry bulls. Dyami Abenaki boldly participated in the Scandinavian students' brawl for his own enjoyment and rush of battle. The Cheveyo and the Scandinavians' traditions were much alike, and the Blood Eagle has been much pleased with all this conflict.
And there it was, the sound of rushing steps that moved towards him. Blindly and full of rage with the blessing of the Norse Gods. A male student from Norway rushed towards Dyami with his battle hammer, empowered by Thor's blessing as it was sparking with intense lightning. He expressed an animalistic roar, his own forehead covered in blood from a recent cut he received previous battle.
Dyami turned around to face the warrior. In both of his hands, he had tomahawk axes with feathers of the Blood Eagle decorating them. The warrior went on a wild swing, the maul sails past his face as Dyami performed a swift dodge by lowering himself to his knees. He swiftly stood up while pivoting himself to the side of the larger opponent. His tomahawks were used by skills hands, as he moved his right tomahawk to the ankle of the Viking, only to pull with minimal force as he used the man's own momentum against him, causing the warrior to stumble onto his back as Dyami swiftly followed down by a strong smash into his sternum, using the flat hammer like end of his tomahawk axe.
The swift one-two combo happened in a flash. Saliva and soft droplets of blood hung in the air as Dyami fractured a chest bone to the follower of Thor. An injury leaving the man unable to move and continue the rite.
He was panting. The battle had gone on for hours. A massive close free-for-all battlefield, and yet, he was not sated yet. He needed more. His body covered in injuries. Blood-sprained skin that now turned purple and red from hits by a hammer. Cuts at his lower thigh from a sword. And several cuts on his chest from spears and arrows.
But there was one warrior whom he had not yet gotten the chance to fight. A single female who stood apart from all the others as she rammed through the battlefield with the blessing of Ymir. Dyami looked onwards towards the field of battle, his eyes locked towards hers as they were alone. All around them were unconscious bodies of other warriors from Scandinavia.

A meeting between warriors required no words to be said. Only the resonating sound of their blades vibrating in the air. The sensation of one's flesh being cut as your blood stains the purity of the white snow.