The Games of Gods
Chapter I
Prologue: Setting the Board
Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle and Discworld are the IPs of their respective authors and the co-authors of this story have no claim to either.
Furthermore, any reference to any other established IP follows as above.
This story is a fanwork and not written with the aim of monetary profit.
All IPs are used in accordance with Fair Use.
AN(s):
Master of the Blood Wolves: I'm doing something a little different this time.
I'm not the only author on this one. Instead I'm writing this alongside some friends of mine from a forum we all hang around.
So, over to them for a few words:
LoverofGames: Well hello everyone. To any of you that have read my other works, sorry for the constant delay's as I've been sidetracked by, by this point, two collaborative writing projects plus my senior year. I hope that my work here, where it crops up, will satisfy you regardless of whether or not you are waiting on my other works.
Rustic94: Greetings everyone. Sorry to those who've read my first attempt at fanfic but I'm currently trying to figure out how to continue with all the work load. If ye've question on the characters or some of their backgrounds just PM for a forum and I'll put up on on my page for discussing the characters, themes or story elements.
ArtArk: Don't mind me I am just here for the insanity to settle in.
Some Creators have more imagination than mechanical aptitude.
Other Creators have more mechanical aptitude than imagination.
And then there are a rare handful who've got a lot of both. Unfortunately, that handful know it and are generally despised by the former two types of Creator for being insufferably smug and condescending.
The same can be said for the Gods these Creators leave to watch over their Creations.
Only, being Gods and being a bit more impulsive and full of ego than Creators because of it, they're not above playing interdimensional practical jokes.
This usually amounts to orchestrating a chain of events that leads to one or another of a rival pantheon being knocked off by a hero, who more often than not is hacked off over something or other that was pinned on their victim by the practical joker.
On one memorable occasion, a God from some backwater dimension,-in a moment of true inspiration,-framed the notorious trickster God, Loki, for the murder of Baldor, Odin's favourite son and made certain he stayed dead.
This incident lead to that particular dimension experiencing it's apocalypse a few thousand years earlier than it should have and the survivors,-after they migrated to a new dimension and sidled into the ranks of a new pantheon,-sued the offending pantheon for damages. Litigation is still ongoing and wars have been fought between the pantheons on the matter.
Some pantheons however, such as the Gods of Dunmanifestin, prefer subtler means of extracting entertainment from their too-smug-by-half peers in mechanically-sound and creatively wondrous dimensions.
On this particular day Fate had just gotten through visiting an old acquaintance of his, Angvard the God of Death and the Underworld, in one such dimension created by a Creator with both a great deal of imagination and mechanical aptitude.
He was not in a very good mood however.
During his visit, Ra'zac the God of said species of eldritch horrors and self-mutilation, had passed some rather unflattering remarks about the Discworld and decided to boast about his little corner of the dimension which his patron species were worshipped in.
The fact that Dras Leona made Ankh-Morpork look positively safe and sanitary did little to impress the insectoid Ra'zac. This had attracted the other local Gods and soon what had been a civil reunion between old friends had turned into a Roast of the Discworld.
Now, Fate was incensed.
It was plain bad manners to insult another God's dimension of residence and the fact that the Discworld was widely held to exist only because every probability curve needed it's far end was a sore point for the Gods of Dunmanifestin.
It was also a bad idea to mention it.
'He went there?' Asked Blind Io, incredulously.
'Yes. He did.' Fate groused as he forced a truly cruel and unusual fate on a hapless thief who'd just retrieved a treasure of incalculable value.
'Well I never...' Several of Blind Io's eyes that were in attendance had narrowed and if they had've occupied the blank expanse of skin covered in cloth where they would've resided in any other being, they'd have formed a formidable scowl.
'We can't just let that lie.' Observed Seven-Handed Sek, the Discworld's self-proclaimed God of vengeance. 'If we do, we'll be the laughing stuff.'
'That goes without saying.' Blind Io agreed. 'But how to punish them...'
'Ask old Melkor for a loan of that big dragon of his? Anchovious, or whatever his name was?' Suggested Offler, making a heroic effort not to lisp through his crocodile snout-mouth.
'How about we open a portal or two to the Dungeon Dimensions on them?' Suggested Seven-Handed Sek. 'That never fails, that one.'
'What's this?'
The congregation of Gods paused as they saw the newcomer:
Errata, Goddess of misunderstandings and generally regarded as a compulsive troublemaker.
'Fate just returned from visiting an old friend of his and one of said friend's fellow Gods instigated a Roast. Of us.' Blind Io explained mordantly.
'And unleashing monsters from other dimensions is all you can come up with to teach them why it's excessively stupid to make fun of other Gods?' Errata asked politely.
'What would you do then, Errata?' Fate asked, a cruel twinkle appearing in his already fathomless, starry eyes.
Errata just smiled wolfishly.
'Why don't we invite them to a Game?' She asked innocently.
The assembled Gods traded looks.
As one God, they all nodded and smiled nastily as they realised what Errata was suggesting.
'A Game?' Said Guntera, Chief of the Dwarven Gods of Alagaesia, sounding intrigued.
'Yes, a Game.' Repeated Blind Io with a nod. 'That regrettable incident when Fate paid a visit to Angvard not long ago convinced me that we Gods ought to get to know one another better to avoid another Ragnarok Incident.' Blind Io explained reasonably.
The rugged-featured Dwarf God hummed and harred to himself.
'Well, it has been dreadful boring here, ever since those dratted elves came over the sea and stopped fighting with the dragons, we've had to stop playing them. Those bloody Riders always interfered and ruined the fun.' He said. 'Angvard insists that things have changed recently but it hardly seems worth the effort.'
'Oh, where's the harm?' Blind Io asked cajolingly. 'Why, the Lady and Fate agreed that this would be fun for all involved. And those two never agree on anything.'
'Really?' Guntera asked curiously. 'And what did you have in mind for this Game?'
'Oh, the usual. Pick a Champion, throw them through challenges and things and generally muck about and have fun. Drink, place bets on the side...'
Guntera nodded decisively.
'Sounds like a grand time and like I say, it's been a few thousand years since we've been able to do that without mortals interfering and spoiling our fun.' He said.
'Excellent. Do you have any objection if we bring over our own Champions?' Blind Io enquired.
Guntera thought about it for a second, then summoned the other Gods of Alagaesia.
They debated and argued for a while, before they fell silent, an agreement having been reached.
'Why not?' Guntera asked rhetorically. 'Seems like it could be fun, especially if they're different from the usual humourless lot that run around down there.' He added, gesturing to where Alagaesia could be seen in an exquisitely detailed carved map on a table that looked as if it hadn't seen use in years.
'Don't worry about that.' Blind Io assured. Then brightened as he remembered something 'Oh, and Fate said he might be inviting a friend along from somewhere else and that they'd be playing as well.' He said.
'For our first game in years, the more the merrier!' Guntera said, a huge grin on his face while the other Gods fell to discussing who'd make for the best Champions, and congregating over by the table to get reacquainted with the world they'd been ignoring in exasperation for nearly a thousand years.
"Well, this is boring," The man said to his pet as he sat down on the thick stone walls overlooking the bustling streets of Ankh-Morpork, the scaly weasel like dragon coiled in a ball as its four green slit-pupiled eyes gazed up at its master. The man sighed, his scarred right hand reaching into his baggy trouser pocket and rummaged through it as he stuck his tongue out slight and bit down with a little pressure. "Now, where's that bleedin'...ah ha!"
The man's hand retracted from his breeches pocket, a smoking pipe in his wrinkled right hand. He then put the pipe into his other hand, the leather like glove that he wore made a crinkling sound as he gripped the pipe by the stem as his scarred right hand stuffed some brown, crinkled leaves into the chamber. The man reached up with his scarred hand and rubbed his chin; the dark blond little hairs creating a scratching noise as his finger nails rubbed against them.
He held the pipe out as he put his left arm around the coiled up reptile's neck while it rubbed its head against his side and purred loudly. The black draconian creature was the size of his leg.
"May you do honours old Alfie?" He asked his pet. The scaly, angular head left his side and gaze towards the pipe. It opened its mouth, neck and cheeks bulging slightly until it squirted two short jets of liquid. The two jets of liquids ignited as they met each other with a large bang and produced a small stream of fire blasted against the chamber of the pipe.
"Thank you Alfie," The man quipped as brought the lip of the smoking pipe up to his mouth and started to inhale, the brown dried leaves in the chamber burning bright red as he inhaled. His pet companion lay her head down on his lap and purred loudly as he scratched and rubbed the back of her long scaly ears that wigged and waved as he did so. "And it looks like this fire retardant glove did work."
Must thank my uncle in that wizards academy nearby when I get the chance. "Huh, must get back to work soon or else ol' Richard here will get a talk down by even oler' Vimes for muckin' about." He said out loud.
Richard reached for his breastplate set next to his other side; he pulled his copper helmet off as he brought the breastplate closer. He carefully slipped the breastplate on, avoiding any chances of disturbing Alfie. He then slipped the rough but well maintained iron breastplate on over his chainmail shirt, adjusting the straps as Alfie rose up and stretched her body as she yawned.
"Well, I guess it is time we got to work." Richard put his helmet on and bit down on the stem of the smoking pipe as he ensured he had all his gear. He then grabbed the corners of his detached larger than usual waterproofed city watch cape in his hands and then pushed himself off the wall, the strong breeze blowing up caught the cape and made it act as a parachute as he floated down slowly to the ground. His tall size hiding his very light frame as he continued to smoke on the way down, his pet companion sliding down the stone wall with her resilient claws.
Richard braced himself for the landing; his legs crouched up as he prepared himself. He grunted as he rolled when he reached the ground, barely avoiding a brush as he stood up in a green piece of land near the street. He pulled the pipe out of mouth and looked into the chamber, all the tobacco leaves gone. He sighed, putting the pipe away into his satchel and then flapped his cape and put it on, tying the two straps together over his neck.
"Better attempt, still wish the tobacco didn't come out of-"He stopped in mid-sentence as he felt a tug on his left breeches leggings. Richard looked down to find Alfie tugging his legging and trying to drag him towards the crowded streets.
"Alright, alright we're goin', we're goin'." Richard said with a smile as he walked next to his scaly dragon like pet, his leather boots clapping against the stone cobbled pavement as he and Alfie moved through the crowd. He boots splashed into a pond, making Richard smirk to himself. "And this is why I choose boots and not sandals."
"City Watch," The woman who watched Richard walk said to herself, her long, pointed ears only barely visible underneath her even longer, flowing brown hair. She adjusted her oversized scarf as she walked away. "Always taking risks, he's lucky I keep him becoming a splattered stain on the ground by using magic. Seriously, who develops the routine of jumping off three storey walls at nine o'clock in the morning?"
The woman adjusted her red and black pointed hat as she waltzed through the crowd. She put her hands into her large fluffy coat that reached to her ankles. "Heh, imagine that, Miss Alice Rickes, long-eared daughter of Issa Rickes watching over bumbling wizes and death-wish wishing brownjobs… couldn't wish for anything less." She mumbled quietly to herself, a large smile crossing her face as she walked to the docks.
There Alice stopped near the edge of a wooden pier overlooking the river Ankh, she inhaled and then she froze. On the opposite side of the pier were three people bathing in the sunlight, without shirts and in their undergarments. They waved to Alice, their cheerful faces turning to confused and then angry frowns as Alice walked away from the pier, almost running in fact.
"Urgh, nudity... why… just why did they have sunbath near my favourite spot to take in the air and daydream away at." Alice shuddered as she walked away as quickly as she could trying in vain to get rid of the images of the sunbathers' bare skin. "It's already hard enough taking baths with my eyes closed, now I'm stuck with the after images of those people."
Alice stopped near the building that she was staying in while in Ankh-Morpork. The witch walked near the back, and after looking left and right she climbed up the drainage pipe and stood atop the roof, her well toned muscles and frame underneath her clothes worked hard as she climbed and leapt until she was on top of the roof of the four storey inn.
Alice then sat down on the corner of the rooftop, inhaling and exhaling as she took in the sight of Ankh-Morpork. The rising sun reflected its light off the white stone work of some of the buildings while highlighting the dark greys, brown and clay red of the others as people of all sizes, gender, species and profession walked the streets beneath her; they were talking, arguing, kissing, trading or just taking in the morning fresh(1) air as they fulfilled their busy schedules of the day.
"Ankh-Morpork… It may not be the best place in the world but it has marvels and pleasant folk to get past the day." Alice said to herself with a wide grin, taking her hat off which pulled several strands of her brown hair back to fully show her pointed ears. She laid back on the rooftop, one leg across the other as she crossed her hands behind her head and closed her eyes while listening to the music of the street performers below.
You know there is only so much patience someone can take before they get fed up and just walk away from it all, or just turn around and punch the person next to them in the snout if that is what you would prefer. A dog can abandon it's master if it's abused too much, a city can rebel against its rulers if they are tired of living in a poor excuse of a lifestyle, and the gods could get tired of someone who annoys them and make a pig fall out of the sky and take care of the bugger once and for all.
For Vaughn Moltenslate his patience was running thin right now, it started out as just a mild annoyance in the beginning that he thought he could just ignore but now that two hours had passed by he was now at the point of taking out his frustration on something or someone nearby, and there happened to be unfortunately only one other person there for him to talk to and it so happened to be the source of his very troublesome today.
"You just had to be a pain in the ass towards me today didn't ya, if it was not for you I could be in Ankh-Morpork by now hitting up a tavern and having some nice drinks!" the middle aged Dwarf shouted as he was pacing back and forth on the dirt road kicking some of the stones as he walked past them.
Once the Dwarf had finished walking in a circle letting off some steam a few minutes later he made his way back towards his cart full of goods and collapsed down on to his backside, leaning back and letting out a sigh.
After a few minutes of calming down and catching his breath he turned his attention back to his current problem with a hard glare, and receiving a bored stare from his horse companion.
Vaughn did not know how long he stared hatefully at the brown horse who equalled his with it's own bored stare but the Dwarf did not feel like partaking in a staring contest with the animal, his anger could only fuel him for so long and he had no intention to try and beat the record of how long someone can hold a staring contest with a four legged animal, after all that record currently belonged to one wizard who won a staring contest against a lizard after four straight days until the reptile found better interest in the insect it was going to eat for lunch nearby.
He ran his fingers through his golden brown beard as he turned away from the board horse and pondered on what he should do now that he's ran out of ideas to keep himself busy out here in the middle of nowhere, his pride and anger had only carried him this far and now it seems boredom had finally set in, and one thing Vaughn disliked the most, besides his older brothers, was sitting around in one area and doing nothing at all.
"I should never have bought you from my cousin, you're more hassle than you're worth." The merchant said as he gave one more quick glare towards his horse before leaning back against the wooden frame of his cart and looking up at the sky, wishing or just begging for something to happen to spare him of this tormenting dull nothingness called sitting around and waiting.
Thumper sighed as he picked up the petrified troll named Granite. The golem had this routine of picking up the preacher, each and every day that he laid flat drunk in front of the bakers' home. The golem carefully scooped up the troll in his arms, ensuring that he didn't break a limb off as he moved to the door of the bakers.
The nine foot golem carefully held Granite in one arm as he used his other hand to gently knock on the door. "Miss Glimma," Thumper said, his voice rumbling and deep, "need some assistance madam."
The door opened to reveal a grey haired woman, her wrinkled face smiling at the golem. "Ah he never learns does he?"
"He does not ma'am, always too drunk to learn to come in before sunlight hours." The golem answered, laughing along with the woman as he carefully tried to step in through the door. The woman moved aside and opened the door to the bakery room.
"At least he was wearing some undergarments this time around." Miss Glimma half joked to the Golem as he carried the troll into the bakery, he grunted as he banged his head off the door frame as he tried to move into the room. He set the perifted troll on a nearby table, the same table they used many times before for such an occasion.
"True, wish he'd stop preaching as it has only embarrassed me and made 'im into a bit of local attraction," Thumper watched Miss Glimma walk over to the baking oven. She slipped a pair of oven gloves on and open the door of the oven, she whistled a slow and cheerful tune as she pulled out the tray of freshly baked cakes. "After all, who wouldn't like a preacher who talks about a god who is more or less about getting drunk and pays for your drink."
Miss Glimma giggled to herself as she walked over to one of the tables to put icing on the cake. Her husband who had a sharply cut greying beard and kind brown eyes walked in through the front door of the bakery, carrying a small sack of flour. He looked at the troll that steared from his sleep.
"A good night I presume?" Mister Glimma asked the troll as he set the sack of flour down on a table opposite of Miss Glimma who was offering Thumper a cake.
"Ah yes, it wa' a ver' good nigh', a fantast' night it was." The troll known as Granite the Ditch Dweller slurred back. Thumper sighed before stuffing the cake into his gaping mouth, using his lips to break down the cake. "Ah no' com' on Thumpa, me spee' when go back to nor-mal in a fews houras. Then I'll preach again and drinkies for everyon'."
"Granite, we're are going down to the sewers to look for stuff as I can't find anyone to hire me and you spent the last of our money on beer," Thumper grabbed a large sack and walked over to Granite, he picked Granite up who struggled uselessly against the golem before being stuffed into the sack. Thumper hefted the sack over his shoulder and walked towards the front door."And the beer wasn't even for yourself."
"Is that really necessary Thumper?" Miss Glimma asked, a frown on her wrinkled face as she looked at the golem who didn't look back as the he opened the front door.
"Not sure, might stop him from going dormant in sunlight but it certainly shuts him up so that he doesn't butcher the art of speech and language anymore." The golem replied as he walked out of the Bakery and into the street.
There was a general buzz of excitement around the World Table as the players of the Game assembled,-or at least, the current players, it had been agreed that if need be players could drop in or out as needed or as circumstances permitted.
Of Alagaesia's Gods, only Angvard the Death God, Sindri the Earth Goddess and the Fate of Alagaesia,-Grey-Eyed Destiny,- were starting.
This was because Ra'zac's chosen Champions were under magical compulsion that made it near impossible for them to participate and his most devout human follower had long ago hacked his arms and legs off.
Meanwhile, Gunterra was content to sit and watch,-along with the other Alagaesian Gods.
The Discworld's players consisted of Bilious, God of Hangovers, Errata, Goddess of Misunderstandings, The Lady, and the Fate of the Discworld who was currently fetching his mysterious 'guest player'.
'You've made some rather...interesting choices of champions.' Observed Helzvog, the Father of the Dwarves.
'Always makes for an interesting Game.' Explained Blind Io as he looked through his notes. He would be adjudicating and throwing challenges at the Champions if things got too boring.
There was a sudden strangeness around the table, then the Fate of the Discworld was there along with a violently hot-pink ten-limbed creature which was being orbited by mystic and occult symbols.
'Sorry we're late.' Fate said pleasantly. 'This is Arcanist.' He said, motioning to his companion. 'Arcanist, these are,-' Time seemed to blur as Fate listed the assembled Gods (of which there were a fair number, though the majority were from various dimensions besides the two currently involved in the Game, who were present mainly for the entertainment.)
When Fate finished, Arcanist looked around absently.
'Charmed.' He said briefly. 'And sorry we're late, I had some difficulty acquiring a suitable Champion and a whole host of other things came up I won't bore you with.'
Without further ado, he produced a tiny,-in fairness compared to the Table it was microscopic,-figurine and placed it near a small village near the Ramr River.
'Let's begin shall we?' He added eagerly.
1. Fresh is a very relative term when it comes to air quality in Ankh-Morpork. The whole place smells of cess pits, rotten fish, decay and the Gods alone know what else. And that's on a good day. In high summer a breeze blowing from Ankh-Morpork has been known to cause violent nausea in people up to a hundred miles away.
For the record:
The Arcanist is not an OC. He's a God in the lore of the pet-site Flight Rising.
This doesn't necessarily mean this is a multi-crossover, but the nature of the story let's us have some fun with cameos.
On that note, none of us have anything to do with Flight Rising beyond me (Blood Wolves) being a fan. We further more do not have any rights to any other IPs that appear or are cameoed in this story and are using them under the terms of Fair Use.
Beyond that, please read and review, give our other stories a look if you feel up to it and hopefully, we'll see you again soon.
'til next time!